The Undertaker

“You don't have to. I know you think I'm a ditz.” I started to argue, but she waved me off. “I'm a sucker for nice guys with puppy-dog eyes, so don't ruin this for me,” she warned. “Remember that hearing on TV earlier? Senator Hardin's? Why don't we send him some of the spreadsheets with a note about the funeral home and the bodies in that cemetery back in Columbus. I'll bet “Tough Tim” will know what to do with them. Then we can give him a call and get some real help.”

I stopped and looked at her in a new light. “Hardin?” I thought it over. “You know, that's not a bad idea. In fact, it's a very good idea.”

She seemed to glow. “I thought so too. There's a Fed Ex service center over on Wabash. If we get it over there first thing, he can have it the next day. Now let's eat before the dumplings and pork get cold and the beer gets warm.”

We went into the tiny kitchen and started opening the food containers. “I guess we should spend the night here,” she ventured, her eyes on the food.

“That would be great, because I'm exhausted and I really need some sleep. You take your aunt's room and I'll crash out there on the couch.”

“She has a king-sized bed,” she said quietly. She looked up at me. Our eyes met. She looked scared, but she knew exactly what she was saying.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Sandy,” I answered.

“I only meant to sleep, Talbott,” she said angrily. “It wasn't an invitation.”

“It's still not a good idea.”

“When it's an invitation, you'll know it. But Jeez, you really did live under a rock, out there, didn't you?” She picked up the six-pack, stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door.

We were up early and out the door before 9:00. I was wearing a pair of the new slacks, one of the shirts she bought, and the blazer. Sandy came out in another of her aunt's outfits – designer jeans with a deep green top, her aunt's white beret covering most of her black hair, a pair of clean, white Reeboks, and a bad hangover. She shuffled over to the medicine cabinet, looking half-dead, and swallowed a handful of aspirin. She continued to stare into the mirror, waiting for them to work, while I went around the rooms throwing out trash and straightening things up.

“How many of those beers did you have?”

“Not enough,” I heard her mumble.

Obviously, something was bothering her more than just the hangover, but this wasn't the time for me to find out what it was. She stuffed the blond wig in her shoulder bag, laid the camera in on top of it, and headed for the door. “Let's go,” she said. “The sooner we get this done, the happier I'll be.”

There was an Irish pub on the corner with an all-you-can-eat egg and corned beef hash breakfast buffet. I had all the above and she had two beers and half of a dry English muffin. By the time we finished, it looked like she might live.

“Your usual breakfast?” I asked. I knew I had to say something. I couldn't leave things like this. “You're pissed at me, aren't you?” I asked.

She looked away and I could see she was close to tears. “Look, this past year hasn't been a lot of fun for me, Talbott, and I did something really stupid last night, something I've never done before. I'm not some bimbo or tramp, and I'm not a one-night stand, but you were there. You seem like a nice guy and I figured I'd never see you again, so I made a big mistake. I reached out for a little warmth and affection…”

“I'm really sorry, Sandy.

“Do you know how much you hurt me last night? How humiliated I felt?

“I didn't want to get you in this thing any deeper.”

“It was only sex, Peter.”

“It's never only sex, Sandy. You might be over Eddie, and maybe that was what you needed last night, but I haven't even begun to be over Terri. It has nothing to do with you. I swear. It's about me. God knows I'd love to. You're beautiful, and smart, and a lot of fun to be with, but I can't.”

She glared at me for a moment, then burst into tears. “Damn you, Peter Talbott! Now look what you've done. I can't even get mad at you.”

I put both of my hand on hers. ”I'm sorry. I'm really sorry,” I told her.

“Just when I'm convinced you're the biggest jerk I ever met and I'm ready to throw you out the door, you have to go say something like that. Let's get out of here before I really do kill you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the street.

We were in and out of the FedEx service center by 10:00. It took thirty-eight dollars from the Sheriff's coffee fund to buy a padded mailer and send a sample of printouts and a letter to Washington, DC for delivery the next morning, but it was worth it.

“I have another idea.” Sandy pointed to a payphone inside the door and said, “Let's give Hardin's office a call and tell him it's on the way.” She looked at me, again. “It's not like I have a daily quota, you know.”

I called Washington DC information and they connected me to the Senate Office Building's main number. I asked for Hardin's office and then handed the phone to Sandy as they connected us. “Your idea. Go for it.”