Bogie's voice, said, “Somebody always gives me guns.” When I heard his voice, I knew I had mail. I opened up the message, a cryptic note from Sheila.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the lone line stared back at me.
“So you want to be evasive,” I said to the screen. “Okay, you asked for it.” I hit the reply button and wrote, “I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired by Mrs. Ghering to find the whereabouts of Peter Ghering, and I need to know if you have any information about where he might be, or if you’ve seen him in the last three weeks.” I hit the send button.
“You have to respond now,” I said to the screen. “You don’t want to be involved, but now you have to know who I am and if I’m telling the truth.” While I waited, I turned on my MP3 player and selected The Smiths greatest hits CD. I forwarded it to “ How Soon Is Now ”, sat back down at my desk and sang along. I didn’t make it through the song before Bogie's voice interrupted. Sheila was hooked.
I opened the email. “Please,” it read. “I can’t tell you anything right now. I’ll call you when I get off work, around six, four your time.” I assumed she guessed I was writing from the same city as the Gherings, and that I was in the Mountain Time zone. If she was two hours ahead of me, she lived somewhere on the East coast. New York, Philly, or some other place Peter visited? I responded, telling her to call the office number, and sent the email. I sat back with a satisfied sigh. It was three-thirty. I didn’t have long before I’d hear personally from the mysterious Sheila.
CHAPTER FIVE
At precisely four o’clock, my phone rang. I picked it up after a not-to-appear-too-anxious three rings. “Start talking,” I said in a way I imagined the inimitable detective Kinky Friedman would talk, to the point and don’t waste my time.
“Reed Ferguson?” At any other time the voice would have sounded pleasant, soft and lilting. Right now it sounded like an old beeper on vibrate, all nervous edges.
“And you’re Sheila?” I asked.
A pause. “Yes.” The connection crackled, mixed with the humming of a car engine. “I’m on my way home from work. This is the only time I can talk to you.” No questions about Peter, me, or why I was contacting her.
“Then let’s get right to the point,” I said. “Tell me about Peter Ghering. Specifically about you and Peter.”
“I worked with him on occasion. And before we go any further, how did you get my email address?” A touch of indignation.
“Off of Peter’s computer, at his house. And it wasn’t a business email.” I didn’t mention that she’d left all her business identification on a very personal email.
Silence, long enough, I imagined, for her to mentally review her correspondence with Peter, and to wonder if Amanda had read any of it. I began to wonder if the connection had broken when she spoke, the ire gone from her voice.
“I just said, I worked with Peter. That doesn’t mean a person can’t send a friendly note once in a while.”
How stupid did she think I was? “The tone indicated more than words were exchanged,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Peter?”
“What do you want to know?”
Now how do you like that! She wanted to play it as if we were exchanging beauty tips. I sat up in my chair, leaning my elbows on the edge of the desk. “Sheila, how long before you get home?”
“What? Uh, in about fifteen minutes.”
“Is there a husband waiting for you there?”
Another pause. “Please, you can’t let him know anything about this. I can’t have that happen.”
“Then answer my questions straight and maybe we won’t have to involve him.” I was all pleasant, but the threat dug deep. “I couldn't care less about your affair. I’m trying to find Peter.”
“All