The Undertaker

“Look, Peter, I know you think I'm some kind of air head, a silly ditz, like Parini called me, and most of the time I am.”

“No, I don't.” I sat up and turned toward her.

“Yes you do. But you're going to pretend you don't, and I'm going to pretend I believe you, because it's been a long time since I've had a nice guy around, and I like to pretend too. You pretend and I'll pretend, and sooner or later we're going to pretend ourselves right into the sack. That'll be a lot of fun and something we could both can use, But when the clock strikes midnight, I'm going to be like Cinderella at the end of the ball, alone, with nothing but a couple of mice, a big pumpkin, and some lovely memories to keep me company.”

“That's not going to happen, Sandy.”

“Yes it is. But I'm a big girl, so don't go getting the guilts about me. I'm going to pretend right along with you until that clock strikes twelve, and I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it while it lasts.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Toledo, where make-overs start, but never end…

Sandy was driving and humming in time with the radio as it played a song about a guy who painted his name and Bobbie Jean's on the water tower in John Deere green. I'll have to remember that the next time I want a date in Iowa, I thought.

“What do you think of Parini?” she looked over and asked.

“Parini?” I shrugged. “That's like asking me what I think of an avalanche.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. He's big, he's powerful, and you don't want to get in his way.”

“Then, you think he's a bad guy?”

“Good? Bad? He does what he's told to do. That could be planting flowers, picking them, or stomping the Bejeezuz out of them, but he does what he's told.”

“Well, I like him. I see something in his eyes.”

“Is that the photographer talking? All I see is the chrome-plated .45 in his hand.”

“Maybe. I just don't think he's all bad.”

“Speaking of bad…” I looked over at the gas gauge and at the clock. “Let's get off at the next exit and get some gas. I need to make a phone call.”

“Your friend in Boston?”

“Yeah.”

“But if he doesn't know anything, why would Tinkerton bother him?”

“Because Tinkerton doesn't think that way. He'll keep his goons stomping around in the dark until they step on something. Then look down and see what it is.”

We found a Shell station in a small town east of Niles. Sandy started filling the tank while I headed for the pay phone. As I dropped in some change and dialed Doug's office number, I watched her check out the car. She looked at the oil and the air pressure in the tires. She even took off the cover the air cleaner and held the filter up to the light, shaking her head disapprovingly. If my car ever was stolen, I hoped it was by a thief with a mechanic fetish like this one. Then I remembered. My car was stolen. By a County Sheriff back in Ohio, about a hundred years ago.

On the third ring, I heard a friendly receptionist's voice say, “Symbiotic Software, how may I help you?”

“Doug's office, please. If he's not in, put me through to Sharon. Tell them it's Pete Talbott and I need to talk to one of them.”

I heard a couple of minutes of what I guessed was a Mozart piano concerto. I didn't call in very often, and it was nice to see Doug had risen from his Grateful Dead phase to a higher intellectual plain. Finally, someone came on the line, but it wasn't Sharon.

“Pete? Hi, this is Jeanie Simpson in HR.” She sounded hesitant, almost unsure. “Doug isn't here. He didn't come in this morning and we're getting worried.”

“What about Sharon? Isn't she there?”

“She didn't come in either,” Jeanie paused, still not sure. “Look, I know you two are old friends or I wouldn't say this, but when Doug and Sharon's desks were both empty this morning… well, the common assumption was they had gone off somewhere together.”

“Doug and Sharon? That didn't happen.”

“I didn't think so either, but it wasn't my place to question. However, he missed two appointments this morning and a conference call with the bankers.”

“Doug missed a call with his bankers? Have you called the police?”

“I called Ted McDermott, our attorney. He said the police won't touch it for forty-eight hours, so we had to sit tight.”

“Ted's right, Doug will probably come wandering in tomorrow morning with some lame excuse, so sit tight,” I told her, not believing a word I was saying, but I didn't want to get the office staff involved. “Jeanie, when you came on the line just now, you sounded surprised to hear from me.”

“You had several phone calls this morning. A man was asking if we knew where you were. He was polite enough, but my radar went up. First he tried the receptionist, then Programming, and then he tried working me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was calling from California, from your old office, and that he had to talk to you about some project the two of you had been working on. He was very, very persistent and he wanted to know if I knew how to reach you. But it just wasn't right.”

“What wasn't”