Page 16 of Evil Bones
“Do you remember Ralph Balodis?”
“What is this, a senility test? Ralph and I were cultural soulmates back in the day. You know, fellow patrons of the opera and ballet.”
“More like the bars and beer joints.”
“Tempe.” Faux disappointment.
“Anyway, are you still in contact with Balodis?”
“I haven’t spoken to Ralph in years.”
“Do you have a phone number?”
“Probably. Hold on.”
I waited as Pete scrolled through his contacts, my shirt now feeling like wet tissue wrapping my skin.
“Babe, you’re in luck.”
I entered the digits into my Notes app as Pete read them off.
“Last I knew, Ralph was living in an apartment above his clinic,” Pete said. “The guy always had an inertia problem, so he probably still is.”
I almost did a hand pump at hearing that.
“What’s up?” Pete asked, undoubtedly curious about my desire totalk to a ghost from the past. To a guy who’d really beenhisfriend, not mine.
Instead of answering, I asked, “Are you in Charlotte?”
“Pittsburgh. I’ll be home tomorrow. Katy and I have a date for the Knights game Saturday.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“You’re welcome to join—”
“That’s so nice of you. But I already have plans.”
“Another time.”
“I’d like that.”
“Take care of yourself, Tempe.”
“You, too.”
I disconnected.
Wondered. Had Good Time Pete sounded wistful?
More to the point, I wondered what to do now that I had Balodis’s number.
Slidell said the vet had become an alcoholic. A recluse. Not using such a poetic term, of course.
Balodis had a reputation as a kind and caring doctor. I’d heard that back in the day he was an honest and conscientious forensic consultant. Why such a dramatic retreat from life?
Had the man suffered some trauma greater than that of losing a horse? Weren’t animal deaths a sad part of every veterinary practice?
Could my request for Balodis’s expertise function to reestablish his sense of self-worth? Could it help draw the man out of his funk?
