He found a pile of change in one pocket and put it out on the little stainless-steel ledge above the hanging phone book. He reminded himself that if he could remember his calling card number, he wouldn’t need change for the phone so often. He reminded himself as well that if he could only remember to bring his calling card along in his wallet, he wouldn’t need to remember the number and he wouldn’t need the change at the same time. He was just so paranoid about carrying around cards. He’d seen too many people get their lives shredded because they’d lost control of their plastic.
He punched a bunch of coins into the machine and dialed the inn. It was only after he’d done it that he realized he was making a local call. It was really impossible to find anything at all around here, or to know where anything was. When the woman at the inn picked up, he asked for his own room. Then he listened to the phone ring for a while and wondered what had happened to Bennis Hannaford.
She must have been in the bathroom, or asleep, he decided, a second later, when the phone was picked up. She certainly sounded tired. He tried to lean against the side of the booth and found he couldn’t do it. It was one of those new booths that weren’t booths at all, but little freestanding cubicles, practically out in the air and in public.
“Bennis?” He said.
“Oh,” Bennis said. “It’s you. I was wondering what you’re doing.”
“We’re on our way to interview Kayla Anson’s boyfriend. Except that he’s not a boy. If you know what I mean.”
“Peter Greer. Who owns Goldenrod.”
“Right.”
“I’ve been lying down.”
“I thought you might have been. That’s rather why I called. I was getting a little worried about your health.”
There was a little pause on the other end of the line. Gregor thought that Bennis must be dragging on a cigarette. He thought that even though he hadn’t heard her light up, and he should have, if she had been asleep when he called.
“My health is fine,” she said finally. “I’m just a little tired. Maybe I’m just a little depressed. This hasn’t been a lot of fun.”
“No, I can see where it wouldn’t be.”
“Are you going to be long?”
“I don’t know,” Gregor said. “I expect it depends on how things go with Peter Greer. And then what else Stacey has for me. I’m trying to convince him to draw me a map.”
“Probably a good idea.”
“Definitely a good idea, but it isn’t going over very well. I think he doesn’t understand how confused I get. It can be very frustrating.”
“I think I have to he down again,” Bennis said. “I really am tired beyond belief. I’m sorry, Gregor.”
“Just as long as you aren’t angry with me,” Gregor said. “I don’t know why, but I keep getting this feeling—”
“I’m not angry with you. Believe me. I’m not angry with you in the least. I’m just—tired. And distracted. Okay?”
“Yes,” Gregor said.
“I’m going to get a little more sleep.”
“All right. I’m going to let Stacey Spratz drive me around. You can get in touch with me if you want to, you know. All you have to do is call the state police dispatcher and tell him who you are. I put you down as one of the people they’re supposed to notify me immediately if you call.”
“Who else did you put down?”
“Old George Tekemanian and Tibor.”
“Not Donna?”
“I’d never get off the phone.”
“I’m going to get off and close my eyes.”
“Right,” Gregor said. And then, because the situation seemed to call for something more, “I missed you. When you were out here and I wasn’t Did you know that?”
“Yes. I missed you, too. Go work.”
Gregor put the phone back and stepped away from the booth. He wished he had some other name for it besides booth. It wasn’t a booth. He didn’t know what it was.
He went back to the car and got into the passenger seat. The engine was still running. Stacey had Big D 103 FM on the radio and was singing along to the Beach Boys doing “Sloop John B.”
“Everything okay?” he asked, when Gregor got back into the car.
“Fine,” Gregor said.
Everything was fine, too. Gregor was sure of it. He thought the nagging doubt at the back of his brain was just a residual nattering from his obsessiveness about love earlier in the week. He could be obsessive about just about anything if he let himself.
“It’s not all that far from Peter Greer’s,” Stacey told him. “It’s just a little bit farther up in the hills.”