I think the last time I felt this bad was the day after my mother’s funeral, when her death suddenly became real to me. I tried calling Caroline, both at her house and at SCRAP. Both Louisa and a secretary agreed to take messages, but wherever Caroline was she didn’t want to talk to me. A thousand times or so I thought of calling McGonnigal, asking the police to keep an eye out for her-but what could they do about one distraught citizen?

Around four I borrowed Peppy from Mr. Contreras and drove her over to the lake. I wasn’t up to running, although she certainly was, but I needed her silent love and the expanse of sky and water to soothe my spirit. It wasn’t out of the question that Humboldt, a sore loser if ever there was one, had some kind of backup to Dresberg, so I kept a hand on the Smith & Wesson in my jacket pocket.

I threw sticks left-handed for the dog. She didn’t think much of the distance they went, but fetched them anyway to show she was a good sport. When she’d worked off some of her excess energy, we sat looking at the water while I kept my right hand on the gun.

In some remote part of my mind I knew I should think of a way to take the initiative with Humboldt, so that I didn’t have to walk around with one hand in my pocket for the rest of my life. I could go to Ron Kappelman and force the issue with him, see how much he’d been feeding Jurshak about my investigation. Maybe he’d even know how to reach Humboldt.

The whole prospect of action seemed so impossible that just thinking about it made my eyelids feel leaden, my brain fogged over. Even the idea of getting up and walking to the car would take more effort than I could manage. I might have sat staring at the waves until spring if Peppy hadn’t gotten fed up and started pushing me with her nose.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I said to her. “Golden retrievers don’t feel guilty about their neighbors’ puppies. They don’t feel obligated to look after them till death.”

She agreed happily, tongue lolling. Whatever I said was fine as long as action accompanied it. We walked back to the car-or I walked and Peppy danced in a spiral around me to make sure I didn’t stray or go back into catatonia.

When we got home Mr. Contreras came bustling out with Lotty’s clean sheets and towels. I thanked him as best I could, but told him I wanted to be alone.

“I’d like to keep the dog awhile too. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, sure. Whatever you say. She misses your runs, that’s for certain, so she’d probably be glad to stay with you, make sure you haven’t forgotten her.”

Back in my own place, I tried Caroline again, but she was still either gone or refusing to talk to me. Disheartened, I sat at the piano and picked my way through “Ch’io scordi di te.” It had been Gabriella’s favorite aria and it suited my mood of melancholy self-pity to play it through, then work at singing it. I felt tears of bathetic sorrow pricking my eyelids and went back to the middle, where the soprano line is most melodic.

When the phone rang I jumped up eagerly, sure it was Caroline willing finally to talk to me.

“Miss Warshawski?” It was the quavering voice of Humboldt’s butler.

“Yes, Anton?” My voice was calm but an adrenaline surge cleared my lethargy like sunlight on fog.

“Mr. Humboldt would like to speak with you. Please hold.” The voice held frosty disapproval. Perhaps he thought Humboldt wanted to make me his mistress and he feared I was too low class for the tone of the Roanoke.

A minute or so went by. I tried to get Peppy to come to the phone and act as my secretary but she wasn’t interested. Finally Humboldt’s rich baritone vibrated the earpiece.

“Ms. Warshawski. I would be most grateful if you would pay me a visit this evening. I have someone with me whom you would be sorry not to meet.”

“Let’s see,” I said. “Dresberg and Jurshak are in the hospital. Troy is under arrest. Ron Kappelman isn’t of much interest to me anymore. Who you got left?”

He gave his hearty chuckle to show that Monday’s contretemps was just an unhappy memory. “You’re always so direct, Ms. Warshawski. I assure you there will be no gunplay if you will pay me the courtesy of a visit.”

“Knives? Hypodermics? Vats of chemicals?”

He laughed again. “Let us just say you would regret it forever if you did not meet my visitor. I’ll send my car for you at six.”

“You’re very kind,” I said formally, “but I prefer to drive myself And I will bring a friend with me.”

My heart was pounding when I hung up, and wild surmises flashed through my mind. He had Caroline hostage, or Lotty. I couldn’t check on Caroline, but I did phone Lotty at the clinic. When she came to the phone, surprised at my urgency, I explained where I was going.

“If you don’t hear from me by seven, call the police.” I gave her Bobby’s home and office numbers.

“You’re not going alone, are you?” Lotty asked anxiously.

“No, no, I’m taking a friend.”

“Vic! Not that meddlesome old man! He’ll cause more trouble than he’ll save you.”

I laughed a little. “No, I agree with you totally. I’m taking someone who’s silent and reliable.”

Only after I promised to call her as soon as I got away from the Roanoke would she agree to my going without a police escort. When she’d hung up I turned to Peppy. “Come on, babe. You’re going to the haunts of the rich and powerful.”

The dog expressed herself interested as always in any expedition. She watched, her head cocked, while I checked the Smith & Wesson one last time to make sure a bullet was chambered, then bounded down the stairs ahead of me. We managed to make it outside without a checkup by Mr. Contreras-he must have been in the kitchen making supper.

I looked around cautiously to make sure I wasn’t walking into an ambush, but no one was lying in wait. Peppy jumped into the backseat of the Chevy and we headed south.

The doorman at the Roanoke greeted me with the same avuncular courtesy I’d had on my first visit. Apparently Anton hadn’t told him I was a menace to society. Or the memory of my five-dollar tip outweighed any nasty messages from the twelfth floor.

“The dog is accompanying you, ma’am?”

I smiled. “Mr. Humboldt is expecting her.”

“Very good, ma’am.” He turned us over to Fred at the elevator.

I moved with practiced grace to the little bench at the rear. Peppy sat alertly at my feet, her tongue hanging out, panting a little. She wasn’t used to elevators, but she took the uncertain flooring with the cool poise of a champion. When we’d been decanted she sniffed around the marble floor of Humboldt’s lobby, but came to attention at my side when Anton opened the ornate wooden door.

He looked coldly at Peppy. “We prefer not having dogs up here, as their habits are difficult to predict or control. I’ll ask Marcus to keep her in the lobby until you’re ready to leave.”

I grinned a little savagely. “Uncontrollable habits sound as though they should mesh perfectly with your boss’s style. I’m not coming in without her, so make up your mind how bad Humboldt wants to see me.”

“Very good, madam.” The frost in his voice had moved into the low Kelvin range. “If you will follow me?”

Humboldt was seated in front of his library fire. He was drinking out of a heavily cut glass-whiskey and soda as nearly as I could tell. My stomach twisted as I watched him, my anger returning and jolting my system.

Humboldt looked severely at Anton when Peppy came in at my left heel, but the majordomo said aloofly that I refused to see him without her. Humboldt immediately switched personae, genially asking the dog’s name and trying to make much of her beauty. She’d picked up his antagonism, though, and didn’t respond. I ostentatiously walked around the room with her, inviting her to sniff in corners. I flicked back the heavy brocade curtains, but the view was of the lake-there was no place for a sniper to hide.