Then I remembered the way she’d weaved as she got back in the car the first time, and bent down to sniff her breath. At least part of Suzy Patton’s trouble—if this was Suzy Patton—was that she was crocked to the teeth. I didn’t know how carbon monoxide and alcohol mixed in the human system, but I had a hunch she was going to be a very sick girl in a few minutes. I slipped off the high-heeled sling pumps and kicked open the bathroom door. She began to retch. I half-led and half-carried her and held her up. When she was through being sick, I wet a wash cloth at the basin and bathed her face while she leaned weakly against the bathroom wall with her eyes closed. She didn’t open them until she was back on the bed. She took one look at me and said, “Oh, good God!” and closed them again. She made a feeble attempt to pull her skirt down. I straightened it for her, and she lay still. I went out in the living room and lighted a cigarette. I could handle her all right, but if the police came by again and noticed those garage doors were unlocked, I was dead. I looked at my watch. It would be at least three more hours before it was dark.

I stood in the doorway and looked at her. She was a big girl and a striking one, with blonde hair almost as white as cotton. Close to five-nine, I thought. Probably thirty to thirty-three years old. She wore her hair in one of those short haircuts they used to call Italian; I didn’t know what they were called now. She was dressed in a dark skirt, soft dark sweater, and a rust-colored shorty coat. She wore gold earrings, and an expensive-looking watch, but no rings of any kind. It was a handsome face, and even as sick as she was now there was the stamp of vitality on it.

I went out and heated the coffee. When I came back with a cup of it she was sitting up on the edge of the bed holding her head. “Try a little of this,” I said.

She sighed. “Are you still here? I thought I’d died and gone to hell.”

She didn’t seem to be particularly scared. Probably the way she felt at the moment she considered that anything that could happen to her now would have to be for the better. I held out the coffee, and she took a sip of it. I lighted a cigarette and passed it over.

She took a drag on it and shuddered. “What happened?”

“I pulled you out from under the back of your car. One of the garage doors must have conked you.”

She felt the back of her head.