“I can certainly try.”

“I’m currently working with two Santa Teresa homicide detectives on a Jane Doe case that’s been on the books since 1969. This is a chart of her dental work. There’s an off chance she lived in this area and we’re wondering if she might have been a patient of Dr. Spears’s. She was most likely a minor when the work was done.”

She glanced at the file. “He’s with a patient right now. Can you come back in half an hour?”

“It’s easier if I just wait,” I said. “How long have you worked for him?”

“Since he opened his practice in 1960. What did you say the patient’s name was?”

“I don’t know. That’s the point. She was never identified. She had numerous fillings and the forensic odontist who examined the maxilla and mandible thought the work was probably done in the two years before her death. It’s a long shot, I know.”

“I doubt we’d have a chart on someone we haven’t seen in nearly twenty years.”

“What happens to the old charts? Are they destroyed?”

“Usually not. They’re put on inactive status and retired to dead storage. I’m not sure how far back they go. You’re talking about hundreds of patients, you know.”

“I’m aware of that. The charts are here in town?”

“If you’re suggesting a hand search, that’s something you’d have to talk to Dr. Spears about. I’m not sure he’d agree to anything without a court order.”

“We’ll only be in town for two days and we were hoping to avoid delay.”

“Wait and see what he says. It isn’t up to me.”

“I understand.”

I took a seat in the corner, where I sorted through the magazines. I chose the current issue of Architectural Digest and entertained myself trying to imagine a color spread on my studio apartment, all eight hundred and fifty feet of it.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman with a puffy lip emerged, pausing at the desk while she wrote out a check for services. I waited until she’d left and then set the magazine aside and returned to the counter.

“Shall we try again?”

Mrs. Gary went into the examining room. I could hear the murmur of voices as she explained my request.

Dr. Spears came out to meet me, still wearing his white coat, wiping his hands on a paper towel he then tossed in the trash. He was gray-haired and blue-eyed and after we shook hands, mine were left smelling like soap. While he seemed to appreciate my problem, he wasn’t much help.

Before I could even get through the details, he was shaking his head. “I couldn’t do that without a name. Inactive charts are filed alphabetically. I’ve got hundreds of them. From what Mrs. Gary’s said, the girl was a minor, which further complicates matters. I don’t see how you’d find her.”

“She had tons of fillings, buckteeth, and a crooked eyetooth on the left,” I said.

“Most of my patients have crooked teeth. I’d like to help, but what you’re asking is impossible.”

“That’s too bad. I’d hoped for more, but I can see your point. What about the other dentists in the area back then? Can you tell me anything about Dr. Towne or Dr. Nettleton? I noticed both were in practice in the late sixties.”

“Dr. Towne died two years ago, but his widow might be willing to help if his records are still in her possession. Dr. Nettleton’s over ninety. He’s reasonably sharp, but I doubt you’ll get much.” He turned to Mrs. Gary. “You know the family, don’t you? Where’s he living these days?”

“With his daughter. She goes to my church.”

“Why don’t you give Miss Millhone the information. Maybe he’ll remember. It’s worth a try, at any rate.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

Mrs. Gary checked her Rolodex and made a note of the daughter’s name and address. From her expression, I was guessing I’d be lucky if Dr. Nettleton could remember how to tie his own shoes.

I left the office, pausing on the sidewalk out front. I consulted my map and my list, moving on to the next name. I repeatedthe same conversation, with variations, in my chats with the three remaining dentists. The response was polite but discouraging. They seemed willing to help, but all of them were busy and no one was interested in searching dead files on the off chance of finding her. Not only was I unable to supply them with a name, but I couldn’t prove she’d ever lived in Quorum or that her dental work was done there. My only hope had been that the meager facts in my possession might have triggered a recollection. I did have Dr. Nettleton’s address, but I was too tired by then to pursue the point.