This Doesn't Happen in the Movies Read Online Free PDF

have to go through this, I thought.  Too bad the airlines weren’t as easy as hotels.  I thanked Abe anyway and hung up.
    My stomach growled, noting that feeding time had passed.  I glanced at the clock: two o’clock.  At least I’d miss the lunch rush.  I walked to BD’s Mongolian Grill where a light crowd filled a few tables.  Two trips to the make-your-own stir-fry   meat, vegetable, and condiments bar filled me up, and I headed back to the office with renewed vigor.
    *****
    When I returned to the office, I checked my voice mail, hoping that Amanda had called with the transaction information from their credit cards, but there were no messages.  I decided to see if I could find out anything about the official investigation, so I picked up the phone and called Detective Merrick at the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office, located south of Denver.
    “Merrick,” he said pleasantly into the phone.  I identified who I was and my interest in the case.  “I see,” he said when I’d finished.  “I don’t envy you your job.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Nothing,” he mumbled.  “I really shouldn't divulge any information about our investigation.”
    “Could you tell me if his airline ticket was used all the way to Denver?”  I knew I’d never get this information from the airlines themselves.
    He sighed into the phone.  “You could get Amanda to look into that.”
    “I could, but I’ve got you on the phone.”
    After a long pause, he said, “The ticket Peter booked was used only as far as Philadelphia.  Not back to Denver.”
    “Did he fly back to Denver on any flight?”
    “He wasn’t ticketed on any flight that we know of.  That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have taken an unregistered flight, hired a private plane or something like that, but we don’t have a record of that.  Now that’s all you’ll get from me.”  The line went dead.
    I sat back in my chair.  Amanda told me that Peter’s ticket wasn’t used from New York City to Philadelphia.  Merrick said that it was.  Was she getting things confused?  Or was she lying to me?
    I grabbed the phone again and called Amanda, but after four rings, an answering machine picked up.  I hoped that meant she was working on the credit card information.  Or maybe she had sought out the drink at the club.  As the digital voice instructed me to leave a message, I wondered why Amanda said what she did about the airline tickets.  She had some explaining to do.  I heard a beep on the line, asked her to call me when she got in, left my number, and cradled the phone.
    I pulled out the sheet of paper with Sheila’s email address.  I re-booted up my computer, connected to my email, and composed a message to Peter’s clandestine friend.
    “Sheila,” I wrote.  “Please contact me about P. Ghering.  It’s very important.  Thanks.”  I signed it Reed Ferguson, with my only office and cell phone numbers beneath.  Unless Sheila was psychic, she would have no idea who I was.  I hoped the mystery would prompt a response, but not create too much curiosity in case someone else read Sheila’s email.  After all, I knew nothing at all about this woman.  She might be married or in a relationship.  I didn’t want to let her secret, however much there was, out of the bag, at least not yet.  I’d see what kind of response I got from her first.  If this didn’t work, I’d resort to a phone call.  I hit the send button.  “C’mon Sheila, you’re a curious woman, right?” 
    I picked up the four photos of Peter and his nameless girlfriends.  Was one of them Sheila?  I looked at them more closely.  They all had the same general appearance, tall, thin brunettes with long, straight hair, and lots of gold jewelry.  Smiles adorned their faces as they clung to Peter while he grinned as if he’d just won the lottery.  Cookie-cutter girlfriends.  And they bore no resemblance to Amanda.
    A sound clip I had downloaded from The Maltese Falcon,