T Is for Trespass

studio.”
    “I’d appreciate your help,” he said. He stood aside while I stepped forward and unlocked the back door. Henry had left the humidifier on the kitchen table, and William scribbled him a note before he took the apparatus.
    “You going home to bed?”
    “Not until after work if I’m able to hold out that long. Friday nights are busy. Young people revving up for the weekend. If necessary, I can wear a surgical mask to prevent my passing this on.”
    “I see you’re all dressed up,” I said.
    “I just came from a visitation at Wynington-Blake.”
    Wynington-Blake was a mortuary I knew well (Burials, Cremation, and Shipping—Serving All Faiths), having dropped by on previous occasions. I said, “Sorry to hear that. Anyone I know?”
    “I don’t believe so. This is a visitation I read about when I checked the obituaries in the paper this morning. Fellow named Sweets. No mention of close relations so I thought I’d put in an appearance in case he needed company. How’s Gus doing? Henry hasn’t mentioned him of late.”
    “I’d say fair.”
    “I knew it would come down to this. Old people, once they fall…” He let the sentence trail off, contemplating the sorry end of yet another life. “I should call on him while I can. Gus could go at any time.”
    “Well, I don’t think he’s on his deathbed, but I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit. Maybe in the morning when he’s up and about. He could use some cheering up.”
    “What better time than now? Raise his spirits, so to speak.”
    “He could use that.”
    William brightened. “I could tell him about Bill Kips’s death. Gus and Bill lawn-bowled together for many years. He’ll be sorry he missed the funeral, but I picked up an extra program at the service and I could talk him through the memorial. Very moving poem at the end. ‘Thanatopsis’ by William Cullen Bryant. You know the work, I’m sure.”
    “I don’t believe I do.”
    “Our dad made us memorize poetry when the sibs and I were young. He believed committing verse to memory served a man well in life. I could recite it if you like.”
    “Why don’t you step in out of the cold before you do.”
    “Thank you. I’m happy to oblige.”
    I held the door open, and William moved far enough into my living room so I could close it behind him. The chill air seemed to have followed him in, but he set to work with a will. He held on to his lapel with his right hand, his left tucked behind him as he began to recite. “Just the last of it,” he said, by way of introduction. He cleared his throat. “‘So live, that when thy summons comes to join / The innumerable caravan which moves / To that mysterious realm, where each shall take / His chamber in the silent halls of death, / Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, / Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed / By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave / Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch / About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.’”
    I waited, expecting a perky postscript.
    He looked at me. “Inspirational, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t know, William. It’s really not that uplifting. Why not something with a touch more optimism?”
    He blinked, stumped for a substitute.
    “Why don’t you give it some thought,” I said. “Meanwhile, I’ll tell Henry you stopped by.”
    “Good enough.”

    Saturday morning, I made another run over to the residence hotel on Dave Levine Street. I parked out in front and let myself in. I walked down the hall to the office, where the landlady was tallying receipts on an old-fashioned adding machine with a hand crank.
    “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Is Melvin Downs in?”
    She turned in her chair. “You again. I believe he went out, but I can check if you like.”
    “I’d appreciate that. I’m Kinsey Millhone, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Juanita Von,” she said. “I’m the owner, manager, and cook, all rolled into one. I don’t do the cleaning. I have two young women who do that.” She got up from the desk. “This might take a while. His room’s on the third floor.”
    “You can’t call?”
    “I don’t permit telephones in the rooms. It’s too costly having jacks installed, so I let them use mine when the occasion arises. As long as they don’t take advantage, of course. You might wait in the parlor. It’s the formal room to the left as you go down this hall.”
    I turned and went back to the parlor, where I prowled