Inherit the Dead

a disconnection between what was spoken and what was felt. Until now, Perry had struggled to grasp the source of his dissatisfaction with the woman, but thinking about his daughter in the solitude of his apartment had made it clear to him: there was not enough pain. For Perry, the absence of his daughter in his day-to-day life was like an open wound,an emptiness in his being that erupted in agony with even the softest touch of memory. Maybe the fact of Julia Drusilla’s own impending mortality had dulled the loss of her daughter, but then why the need for a deathbed reunion? Yes, there had been a sense of urgency to Drusilla’s desire to have her daughter back, but was it to fill a hole in her being or a hole in her wallet? But Julia Drusilla was rich, so what need did she have for the money? She was also dying, which made the need for money even less pressing, unless she planned to be buried with it.
    He stopped thinking, and started listening. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him as he imagined his daughter sitting next to him, her hand in his, sharing silence in music.
    The needle rose. The telephone rang. The timing could not have been more perfect. He picked up the phone and for a single second expected to hear his daughter’s voice. Instead, Arthur Gawain from the East Hampton Police Department spoke.
    “We’ve found Angel’s car,” he said.
    “And Angel?”
    “If we’d found her, do you think I’d have started off with the car?”
    “Anything I should know?”
    “The car looked as if it had been abandoned, that’s all. No sign of anything else.”
    “I’m coming out there,” said Perry, thinking if he left now he could be there before dark. He hung up before Gawain could say no.
    Before he left, he replaced the record in its sleeve.
    You had to be careful with fragile things.

So much easier to follow the PI on foot than by car.
    You leave just enough distance between you, and there are plenty of people on the street for distraction. But damn, it’s cold, and you’ve been following him since morning, first to the police station, waiting outside, standing around trying to look innocent in front of a police station, almost funny, all those cops going in and out and no one giving you a second glance. You try to imagine who the PI is here to see, someone who will hopefully help him and help you at the same time.
    You walk up and down the block trying to keep warm, your hands going numb, damn gloves left behind in the car, and then, just as you’re passing in front of the precinct entrance, the PI comes out and you practically jump but he doesn’t notice, he’s so preoccupied, and you slide behind a group of uniforms, using them as a shield.
    You let him get a half block ahead then catch up walking slowly but purposely until he stops and you duck under the awning of an apartment building and watch as he gets his cell phone out and scrolls through messages, half looking at his phone and half surveying the area, and you wonder if he’s aware of you at all.
    He starts walking again and you do, too, slower now, cautious, and when he stops beside a church, you turn around and pretend to buy something at a newspaper stand until he’s moving again, heading home, you think, though his route is different so you’re not sure, wondering if he’s learned something important and if he’s heading somewhere else, so you move a little quicker, afraid you might lose him, following around a corner and onto First Avenue, the wind in your face, an icy chill off the river. And when he goes into a deli, you speed up, a daring part of you wanting to tease the situation even more than you already have and so you follow him in, watch him take a carton of milk to the counter, the two of you only six, seven feet apart, your hood up so he can’t see your face, and you’re nervous but excited, your whole body electric.
    Then he looks over and you feel his eyes on you and you know he’sthinking: Is this someone I should look at, is this someone I know? But you don’t dare look up. You just reach for a box of Oreos acting casual, normal, waiting until when he’s paid for his milk and then he’s out of the store and you buy the cookies and wait again to make sure he’s not going to come back. Then you head out, stop in the doorway, peer up and down the street, spot him a half block ahead, and wait another minute until you see him turn the corner.
    You catch up in time to see him go into his