Chapter 18

As I'd told Mike the computer guy, I hadn't been able to get to him on Friday. So the morning after the party, Saturday morning, I got up when I got up, drove over to the office, got the tapes, and headed for his computer shop. It's nothing big – he's one of those guys who knows computers inside and out, but can't stand working for someone else anymore than he can swim in molten lava. His shop is really just a couple of bedrooms in his house, but I've never met anyone who knew more about computers – at least I don't think I have, though I'm hardly qualified to judge between one tech and another. I can use a computer, and do a few things to the programs and the innards, but that's about it. I used to be able to do more, but without a DOS prompt it's tough to write and run batch files, and doing everything with a mouse pointer and pretty pictures has caused me to lose a lot of knowledge I once had.

I gave Mike the tapes, and showed him my crude marking system. He nodded and said he'd probably have the CD for me by Monday. I told him to charge me the regular rate, and he said he'd charge the regular rate he uses when he works for me. I didn't ask, just grinned and left.

And as I got into the Blazer I realized I was stuck. Until I had the CD in hand, I couldn't listen to the real threats all at once, and so couldn't get the feel for them that I'd gotten for the letters. I did have something of a feel for them, and would have more when I'd gone over 'em a few more times, but to get a complete picture I needed the CD too. And then a thought struck me.

Though I was sitting outside the house, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and called Mike's number. When he answered I said, "I got another thing to tack on. Do you happen to know anyone who could transcribe that CD?"

"Yeah, a couple of people."

"They're people you could trust to not flip out when they heard it, and not spread around what they heard?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then, if you'd make a second copy and give it to one of 'em, with instructions to expedite and send the finished transcripts to my office, I'd appreciate it. Have 'em bill you, and then add it to my bill."

"Okay."

And that was that. I work better from a hard copy, and I'd have gone nuts if I hadn't thought to arrange for transcripts. I was glad I had thought of it. In fact I'd thought of it yesterday at the office, and then nearly forgot it again. But now I was stuck once more. I still had the cell phone in my hand, and I dialed my favorite number.

"Yes, Darvin?"

"Hey, C, where's Darlia at?"

"She's still at Sandra's, where I earnestly hope she will not learn to end a sentence with a preposition."

"Yeah, yeah, you and your finicky English," I said with a grin. I knew Cecelia would detect the humor in my voice. "Is there a plan for when she'll be back, or are y'all playing it by ear?"

"The latter."

"Then why don't you call Sandra and tell her your husband's kidnapping you, and you might not be able to escape till tomorrow morning at church time?"

"That is a plan I approve of. What should the well-dressed housewife be wearing at the time of her kidnapping?"

"Something suitable for Fuddrucker's, I think."

Now I could hear humor in Cecelia's voice. "A bib seems appropriate – should I wear anything else?"

"Cecelia, you'd look good in a burlap bag, or a barrel, or your own natural skin. But probably some clothes would please everyone else a bit more."

"Then I shall wear some clothes. I don't know just which clothes – perhaps a shirt and a pair of socks, or my shoes and a hat..."

"Cecelia, if I didn't know how modest you are, I might think you meant it. But you're the lady who's worn a sleeveless dress outside the house no more than half a dozen times since we've been married – and all of those instances just in the past two or three years. You'd no more go out without being fully clothed than you'd go swimming in your favorite dress."

"Me conozcas, mi paloma," she said. "Very well, I shall be fully dressed, in my usual style. Do you know when you'll be here?"

"Not exactly, but it won't be too long. I kind of like Fuddrucker's."

"And you passionately love your wife."

"Yeah, that's a motivation to hurry. Okay, C, I'll catch you in a bit."

It had been a long phone conversation for us. But somehow we'd got to joking, and it had just gone on. Normally we say what we have to say, and hang up.

I started the engine and drove. I was in Nob Hill, so it wasn't too far to drive, but I suddenly was in a hurry to see my wife, whom I do indeed passionately love.

Cecelia and I ate at the Fuddrucker's across the freeway from my office. We could see the building from where we sat by the window, though we couldn't see my office itself due to the way the building sits on the land. The freeway points northeast there, and so does the building.

Afterward we got into the Blazer and I drove us to Montgomery Park, which wasn't far away. I parked in the lot behind the library and we got out. I walked around the back of the Blazer, and met Cecelia. She grinned at me and said, "Come here, my friend, and give me a hug."

I did, remembering. Those were the same words, or almost the same words, with which she'd greeted me after church on the day she'd proposed to me. I hadn't intended to call up that day by coming here, but it was true that we had parked behind the library that day – though it was a different building then – and she'd met me with an invitation to a hug, the first one we'd shared.