Play with Fire

chapter Eighteen

DURING THE CAB ride to Libby’s condo, Morris and Chastain kept their conversation discreet. If they spoke openly, it was unlikely that the driver would understand anything he heard, or know whom to tell about it even if he did. But a lot of small, unnecessary risks eventually add up to the big one that kills you.

“So, I guess we’ll have to find this fella,” Morris said. “Any ideas?”

“I’ll ask my Sisters, for a start,” she said.

“Didn’t you try that route once already?”

“Yes, but all I had then was a job description. Now we have a name.”

“Maybe we should start the way everybody else does these days, and Google him,” Morris said.

Libby gave vent to a rather unladylike snort. “You think somebody like him has a website? Or maybe a blog?”

“Probably not, although he’s got to drum up business somehow.”

“I’m guessing in his case, it’s mostly by word of mouth.”

“Maybe, but have you noticed – these days, most things that start out as word of mouth end up on the internet sooner or later.”

“You have a point,” Libby said. “Anyway, it can’t hurt–”

Music began to issue from Libby’s purse. People of a certain age might have recognized the light, bouncy ringtone as the theme from the nineteen sixties TV series, Bewitched. Libby liked her little jokes, sometimes.

She plucked the phone out of her purse and checked the Caller ID. She looked at Morris. “It’s Colleen.”

Morris didn’t need a last name. As far as he knew, the only “Colleen” he and Libby had in common was Colleen O’Donnell – white witch, member of the Sisterhood, and Special Agent for the FBI.

Libby brought the phone to her ear. “Hey, Colleen.” She listened, then said, “I’m not at home at the moment, but I will be, as soon as the cab, Quincey and I are in, gets us there... Yes, he’s here, too.”

Libby listened some more, then checked her watch. “Ten o’clock should be good, if you want to come over then... Okay, see you soon. Bye.”

She put the phone away and turned to Morris. “She and Fenton are in New York, and they want to talk to us. I hope you don’t mind that I invited them over.”

“It’s your home, after all,” he said. “But no, I don’t mind. Maybe they’ll even have some ideas about how we can track down the guy we’re looking for.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.”

They were silent for a couple of blocks, and then Morris said, “It’ll be just like Old Home Week, apart from Hannah, who may or may not still be among the living.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“Not since that weird Christmas card I told you about. If she was coming over too, we could have a reunion of the whole crew from Iowa.”

“Idaho. It was Idaho,” Libby said.

“Right. I’m always getting those two confused.”