New Hope for the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

done. Hoke would just have to live with the agreement he had so unwisely signed.
    “Too bad,” the lawyer had said, shaking his head. “I wish I’d been your attorney at the time. When a couple getting a divorce decides to share the same lawyer, he has two fools for his clients, but one of them is more foolish than the other. I would never have allowed you to sign such a dumb and binding agreement.”
    Hoke had more than an hour to kill before his appointment in Coconut Grove with the house-sitting service. It was too early for lunch, but he was starving. He stopped at a 7/Eleven, bought a grape Slurpee, and then ate his two hard-boiled eggs and slurped the Slurpee in his car in front of the store. This was his usual diet lunch, and it was as unsatisfactory as his diet breakfast, which called for two poached eggs and half of a grapefruit. He could get by on this diet fare all day, but could rarely stick to it by nightfall. By the end of the day he was always too hungry to settle for the three ounces of roast beef and can of boiled spinach his diet called for, so he usually ate something that tasted good instead—like the Colonel’s extra-crispy, with a couple of biscuits and gravy. But even so, Hoke had lost weight and was down to 182 pounds. He had given up a daily six-pack habit, and that had helped, but he felt deprived and resentful. He was also trying to quit smoking, in an effort to lower his blood pressure and save some money, but that was harder to do than it was to diet. Although, now that cigarettes cost $1.30 a pack, it made a man think twice before lighting up a cigarette worth six and a half cents. Hokestubbed out his short Kool, put the butt in his shirt pocket for later, and drove to Coconut Grove.
    Hoke parked on Virginia Street, not far from the May-fair shopping complex, and put his police placard on top of the dashboard in lieu of dropping a quarter in the meter. The Safe ‘n’ Sure Home-Sitting Service, the outfit Hoke was looking for, was only a short distance away from the Mayfair’s parking garage. Hoke had selected this agency from one of six display ads in the Yellow Pages. Not only was Coconut Grove a desirable place to live, but out here he might be lucky enough to get a residence with a swimming pool.
    Ms. Beverly Westphal, the woman Hoke had talked with on the telephone, was on the phone again when Hoke came into her office. He was fifteen minutes early. A tinkly tocsin above the door announced his entrance. The small room—the front room of what was undoubtedly Ms. Westphal’s private residence—looked more like a living room than an office. The first impression was reinforced by the round oak table that served as her desk. The desk held a metal tray and the remains of a pizza, as well as her telephone, nameplate, and a potted philodendron.
    Ms. Westphal was about thirty, and she wore Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, a black U-necked T-shirt with the word MACHO across the middle in white block letters, and green-and-red jogging shoes. A small pocket watch dangled from the T-shirt. She didn’t wear a brassiere beneath the T-shirt, and her breasts had prolapsed. Her brown eyes were popped slightly, Hoke noticed as she hung up the phone. She was the kind of woman with whom Hoke would avoid eye contact if he happened to see one like her in a shopping center.
    Ms. Westphal told Hoke to pull a chair up to the table.
    “At least you’re a WASP, Sergeant Moseley.”
    “Yes, and I’m not bilingual.”
    “That isn’t important. I’ve got more Latin house sitters now than I can use, but there’s a shortage of WASP sittersat present. There’s a thousand-dollar security bond, and if you don’t have a thousand dollars—”
    “I don’t have a thousand dollars.”
    “—I can get you a bond for a hundred in cash.”
    “I can raise that much.”
    Ms. Westphal summarized the situation for Hoke. Three years before, when white flight had begun in earnest, it was easy to move away from Miami. A