He responded more promptly than I really enjoyed. “There was the time you asked me to give you financial details on one of Crawford, Meade’s other clients. That’s not only illegal but highly unethical. Then when you wanted me to get a restraining order against Dick you could hardly stand it when I turned you down. Then ten or twelve months ago—”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted hastily. “But those were all things I would have done myself if I’d been able to. Name something illegal I wouldn’t do myself.”
“I don’t have that much imagination. And anyway, you wouldn’t give away confidential client records to anyone. Probably not even to me. Still want to ask me something?”
“Just for some information out of Lexis.” Peppy, giving up on the idea of more hamburger, started exploring the room to see who had been there since her last visit.
“You still don’t have a computer? Christ, Vic, when are you going to join the eighties?”
“Soon,” I promised. “Very soon. As soon as I get four thousand dollars that isn’t marked rent or mortgage or insurance or something. Also I need a new car. The Chevy has ninety-five thousand miles on it and is starting to make horrible grinding noises at high speeds.”
“Don’t drive it so fast,” he advised unkindly. “What do you need off Lexis? Just the officers of a corporation? Spell it out for me, okay—one word, right, ‘works’ not capitalized. One of the paralegals will call you back this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Drink some chicken soup and get a good sleep.”
The sleep idea sounded inviting, but first I checked in with my answering service to see how many people I’d kept hanging since Saturday. Lotty had phoned once, as had Furey, Robin Bessinger had called a couple of times.
Maybe Michael had some word on my aunt. I tried both the station and his house and left a message on his machine.
After hanging up I went to the window to stare down at the Chevy. The real reason I’d been skipping my calls was my aunt. Her condition had been pretty marginal when she left the hospital; every time the phone rang I was afraid it was someone with bad news about her.
If she did turn up alive, she’d probably need some nursing care. Maybe I could get Peter to shell out for it, but history didn’t make me want to bet on it. You’d better not be blowing your transmission or anything really irreplaceable like that, I warned the car. ′Cause it’s you and me, babe, for the foreseeable future.
At least I could call Robin. It might be that we’d killed the personal side of our life together, but I ought to be friendly—if I could only play the corporate politics right, I could turn Ajax into a major account.
Robin was in a meeting. With her usual bouncy good cheer the receptionist promised to give him my message. I fiddled with the cord to the blinds. What I really ought to do was call Murray and talk to him about the lack of any Hispanic or black workers at the Alma work site, even though they’d won part of the Ryan contract because they were a minority contractor. But MacDonald had promised me more details about Alma and Roz and I thought I should give him another day before going public. Waiting wasn’t my style, though. Why was I being so patient now?
“You’re getting old, Vic,” I told my wavery reflection in the window. “People didn’t used to scare you so easily.” Was it his phone call last night or my being trapped in the Prairie Shores last week? It had to be the phone call— I didn’t have any reason to connect him with my near death. Except, of course, for the note he’d sent with his greenhouse.
Behind me Peppy was whimpering in frustration. I pulled on the cord to the blinds impatiently, then flicked them shut and looked to see whether she needed to go out. She came over to me, pawed my leg, then went back to the sofa, got down on her forepaws, and whimpered again, her tail waving gently.
“Whatcha got there, girl?” I asked. “Tennis ball?”
I lay down on my stomach and peered underneath but couldn’t see anything. She refused to give up. Despite all my assurances that nothing was there, she continued her impatient mewing. Once she got going on something like that she could easily keep it up for an hour. I bowed to her superior concentration and hunted for my flashlight.
When I finally remembered dropping it with my other tools on the floor of the hall closet Sunday night, Peppy was still trying to burrow her way under the couch. I hoped she hadn’t found a dead rat, or worse yet a live one. With some foreboding I got back down on my belly to peer underneath. Peppy was crowding me so closely I couldn’t see anything at first, but at least no red eyes stared back at me. Finally I saw light glinting off metal. Whatever it was lay out of the reach of my arm.
“Naturally you’ve seen something that involves moving the couch,” I grumbled to the dog.
When I pulled it away from the wall she danced hurriedly around to the back, tail wagging vigorously. She raced in front of me when the object came into view, sniffed at it, picked it up, and laid it at my feet.