Chapter 9

I of course knew where Cinda worked – I'd gotten all sorts of information from her once I'd decided to take the job. I hadn't gotten it all at once – where she worked had been something I hadn't found out right away – but eventually I'd gotten pages of information from her. A lot of it was just habit, for you don't need to know as much if you're bodyguarding as you do if you're investigating. I got into the habit when I was a cop of getting as much information as I could, and since it's a useful habit – else it wouldn't be a cop habit – I've retained it in my PI work.

Where she worked was in an office building on Juan Tabo, just east of the Mountain Run shopping center. That's an interesting bit of town. Juan Tabo and Eubank are both north-south streets, yet they intersect there at Mountain Run. The first time I heard of that intersection the person who mentioned it was making a joke – "Meet me there," was what he said, laughing, thinking that the person he was talking to would think it hilarious. As it turned out the person he was talking to, while I sat and listened to the conversation, lived up there and couldn't figure out what was so funny.

I drove over after eating several slices of hot raisin bread, with butter melting into the bread and just enough cinnamon on to give it a little extra kick. I told Cecelia I'd get something more substantial to eat while I was out. One of the nice things about having money is I never have to check my wallet to see if I can eat out – though my notions of eating out run more to Blake's and Subway than to fancy restaurants.

The company Cinda worked for was on the fourth floor. It was some sort of financial firm – Cecelia probably would have understood every nuance of it, since that was what she'd done when she worked for a living, but about all I know of finances is balancing a checkbook ... and I used to get mine unbalanced every so often no matter how careful I was. Cinda wasn't on the financial side of things; she was the receptionist. I walked in the door into a standard institutional office space, and there was Cinda at her desk typing on a computer.

She turned, and smiled when she saw me. "I thought Straight was downstairs right now."

"He is – though if you went hunting for him you'd not see him." I hadn't seen him, though I'd glanced around. "You know what he looks like, but when he doesn't want you to know he's there, you don't. But we can discuss different philosophies of guarding bodies another time. Right now I need to report and advise, if you've got some time."

She glanced at the wall clock. "I've already had lunch, but I could take an early break. Let me get someone to cover the phone..." She picked up her phone and punched in a three-digit extension. I remember when I had a real short phone number – Lanfair #1. Of course the phone was several miles from the house, and was actually a phone booth that everyone in Lanfair Valley used. They've taken it out, now, and it's a change that makes me feel lonesome.

I had wandered over to the wall and was looking at the prints hanging there, so I didn't hear her conversation. I turned back when she called my name, and followed her down a hall and into a break room, which must have served for the high-powered people in the company too since it was one of the nicest break rooms I've ever seen. She poured a cup of coffee, and put in a couple of packets of blue stuff – I use actual sugar so I don't know the names of the blue and pink and yellow stuff. Of course I don't drink coffee, but sugar goes into tea very nicely. I didn't have tea just then, though – I saw a Coke machine and put money into it, and carried the bottle to the table where Cinda was now sitting.

"You said, Mr. Carpenter, that you need – how did you put it – to report and advise?" Her inflection made it a definite question.

"Yeah. First the report. Last night, real late – I'll put details into my written report – your ex-husband showed up. I met him in the parking lot, and after a few quiet words he went on his way. I followed him, and saw him get into a truck – I couldn't see the plate, but it matched the description you gave me – and drive away. He had the gate code, and I gotta get with the manager still, 'cause they're gonna need to change it."

She thought for a moment. "You know, before I would have been frightened knowing he'd been there. But I'm not – not with you providing your services."

"That's why I'm here, Ms. Barelas." I thought of her as Cinda, but my manners hadn't yet permitted my informality to call her that to her face. "But it does lead to the advice."

I took a drink of Coke, and she drank some coffee, holding her cup in two hands and looking at me over the rim. She didn't speak, but waited for me to go on.

"It's all well and good," I said, "for me and my colleagues to guard you. That's necessary, and I'm glad to do it – especially since you're payin' me to do it." I smiled, and hoped that she'd realize it was a joke. It had come out on its own, as my jokes often do, but almost as often as they pop out, my jokes fall flat. She must have realized it, though, for she smiled as I continued. "What we really need to do is fix it so you don't need us to guard you anymore. You know the old saw about a fish and fishing?"