G Is for Gumshoe

to restrain her so she wouldn't hurt herself. Jermaine stood by spellbound, twisting the dish towel in her big dark hands, making anxious sounds at the back of her throat.
    Gradually, the spasm passed. Irene began to cough, a tight unproductive sound that made me ache in response. The cough was followed by a high-pitched wheeze that helped to mobilize me again. I put a supporting hand under Irene's right arm and shot Clyde a look. "Let's sit her upright. It'll make her breathing easier."
    We hefted her into a sitting position, a surprisingly awkward maneuver given how light she was. She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but she was limp and dazed, her eyes moving from face to face without comprehension. It was clear she had no idea where she was or what was going on.
    "You want I should call emergency, Mr. Clyde?" Jermaine asked.
    "Not yet. Let's hold off on that. She seems to be coming around," he said.
    A fine layer of perspiration broke out on Irene's face. She reached for me blindly. Her hands had that clammy feel to them, like a still-animated fish in the bottom of a boat.
    Jermaine disappeared and returned moments later with a cold, damp rag that she passed wordlessly to Clyde. He wiped Irene's face. She'd begun to make small sounds, a weeping, hopeless and childlike, as if she were waking from a nightmare of devastating impact. "There were spiders. I could smell the dust…"
    Clyde looked at me. "She's always been phobic about spiders…"
    I picked up the two halves of the teacup automatically, wondering if she'd seen something in the bottom. I half-expected one of those old dead spiders lying on its back, legs curled in against its belly like a blossom closing up at twilight. There was nothing. Meanwhile, Irene was inconsolable. "The paint ran down the wall in horrible streaks. The violets were ruined and I was so scared… I didn't mean to be bad…"
    Clyde made soothing noises while he patted her hand. "Irene, you're okay. It's fine now. I'm right here."
    The look in her eyes was pleading, her voice reduced to a plaintive whisper. "It was Mother's tea set from when she was little… I wasn't supposed to play with it. I hid so I wouldn't get spanked and spanked. Why did she keep it?"
    "I'm putting her to bed," he said. He eased one arm under her bent knees, put the other behind her, and lifted, not without some effort. He inched away from the coffee table, walking sideways till he was clear, and then he headed toward the stairs. Jermaine accompanied him, hovering close by to help steady the load.
    I sank down on the couch and put my head in my hands. My heart rate was beginning to return to normal, no mean feat given the rush of adrenaline I'd experienced. Other people's fear is contagious, a phenomenon magnified by proximity, which is why horror movies are so potent in a crowded theater. I smelled death, some terrifying experience neither Irene nor Agnes could deal with all these years afterward. I could only guess at the dimensions of the event. Now that Agnes was dead, I doubted the reality would ever be resurrected.
    I stirred restlessly, glancing at my watch. I'd been here only thirty minutes. Surely Dietz would return soon and get me the hell out of here. I leafed through a magazine that was sitting on the coffee table. At the back of the issue there was a whole month's worth of dinner menus laid out, totally nutritious, well-balanced meals for mere pennies a serving. The recipes sounded awful: lots of Tuna Surprise and Tofu Stir-Fry with Sweet n Sour Sauce. I set the magazine aside. Idly, I picked up the halves of the teacup, rewrapped them in newspaper, and tucked them back in the box. I got up and crossed the room, setting the box by the door. No point in having Irene face that again. Later, if she was interested, I could always bring it back. I looked up to find Clyde coming wearily down the stairs.

21
    He looked like a zombie. I followed as he crossed to one of two matching wing chairs and took a seat. He rubbed his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. His dress shirt was wrinkled, the tiny blue pinstripe stained with sweat at the armpits. "I gave her a Valium. Jermaine said she'd stay with her until she goes to sleep."
    I stayed on my feet, clinging to whatever psychological advantage I had in towering over him. "What's going on, Clyde? I've never seen anyone react like that."
    "Irene's a sick cookie. She has been ever since we met." He snorted to himself. "God… I used to