Silent Treatment by Michael Palmer Page B

wouldn’t tell him what, but for her even to mention that she was working on a story with big potential was unusual.
    It was three minutes before she came on the line.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting, Harry,” she said. “I had this technician ready to blow the whistle on the dog lab in the basement of a building owned by InSkin Cosmetics, and the bastard just wimped out.”
    “Are you all right?”
    “If you mean do I spend one minute out of every hour not thinking about this damn balloon in my head, the answer is, I’m fine.”
    “They had that meeting at the hospital.”
    “Meeting?”
    “The Sidonis committee report.”
    “Oh … oh, yes.… How did it go?”
    “Let’s just say I should have taken that job with Hollins/McCue.”
    “Dawn breaks on Marblehead.”
    “Please, Evie. I admitted it. What more can I say?”
    He knew there was, in fact, nothing he could say that wouldn’t make matters worse. His decision a little over a year ago to turn down the offer had nearly been the final nail in the coffin of their marriage. In fact, considering that he could count on one hand the number of times they had made love since then, the fallout was probably continuing.
    “I got a call from Dr. Dunleavy’s office a little while ago,” she said.
    “And?”
    “A bed on the neurosurgical floor and operating room time have become available. He wants me to come in tomorrow afternoon and be operated on Thursday morning.”
    “The sooner the better.”
    “As long as it’s not
your
head, right?”
    “Evie, come on.”
    “Listen, I know I had promised to come hear you play at the club tonight, but I don’t want to now.”
    “That’s fine. It’s no big deal. I don’t have to play.”
    He took care to keep any hurt from his voice. Throughout their dating and the early years of their marriage she had loved his music, loved hearing him play. Now, he couldn’t recall the last time. He had been looking forward to this small step back toward the life they had once shared. But he did understand.
    “Harry, I need to talk to you,” Evie said suddenly. “Can you come home early enough for us to go out to dinner?”
    “Of course. What gives?”
    “I’ll … I’ll talk to you tonight, okay?”
    “Should I be worried?”
    “Harry, please. Tonight?”
    “All right. Evie, I love you.”
    There was a pause.
    “I know you do, Harry,” she said.

CHAPTER 4
    Kevin Loomis, first vice president of the Crown Health and Casualty Insurance Company, slipped a folder of notes into his briefcase, straightened his desk, and checked his calendar for the following day. He was a meticulous worker and never left for the evening without tying up as many loose ends as possible. He buzzed his secretary and turned on a mental stopwatch. In six seconds she was in his office.
    “Yes, Mr. Loomis?”
    Brenda was fabulous—smart, organized, loyal, and an absolute knockout. She was a legacy to him from Burt Dreiser, now the president and CEO of the company. Kevin suspected she and Dreiser had something going outside the office. But it really didn’t matter. Dreiser had bumped him up to the corner office over a number of others who had more seniority and, in some cases, more qualifications than he did. And as far as Kevin was concerned, if Dreiser was sleeping with Brenda Wallace, more power to him.
    “Do we have anything else we need to take care of?” he asked. “I’m just getting set to leave for the day.”
    “Second and fourth Tuesdays. I know,” she said, a smile in her eyes. “I wish you well.”
    The poker game. For years, Dreiser, who was a legendary workaholic, had uncharacteristically left the office at four o’clock on the second and fourth Tuesdays of every month. Some sort of explanation seemed called for. Brenda was far too efficient and observant not to wonder. The poker game fit the bill perfectly. Now, Kevin had taken over not only Dreiser’s former title, office, and secretary, but, as far as Brenda Wallace