sort of high tech medical equipment.”
“What’s the company?”
Her cheeks flushed and she started blinking like crazy.
“Why don’t we sit down.” I led her through the dining room and I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror behind the fireplace. Her head was bowed, shoulders defeated. I left Claire in the living room checking out Mom’s collection of Chinese export porcelain and went to get drinks. It was hot cocoa for me and chamomile tea for her, no sugar.
I set the drinks tray down on the coffee table and sat. “Dad is expensive, but he is worth it.”
Claire sat and said, “I had no idea, but I can pay after I get another job.”
“What do you do?” I said.
“I’m a transcriptionist.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“You’re a typist? How fast?”
“A hundred a minute.”
“No shit? No wonder you were Ms. Perkins’ favorite.” Ms. Perkins was our high school typing teacher. Claire was her pet and Ms. Perkins wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom even if my eyes were turning yellow.
“It’s a talent, I guess,” she said.
“I guess. Look, I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You need someone to find Chris…”
“Evan.”
“Right. Evan. And I need someone to type up a bunch of reports for Dad. I was supposed to do it, but you know me, thirty a minute.”
Claire leaned forward, balancing her mug on her knees and warming her hands with the steam. “So your Dad will find Evan if I type his reports?”
“No. Dad’s in Florida. You type the reports and I’ll find Evan.”
“You can do that?”
“You’d be amazed what you pick up around here. Unless he pissed off the mob, I’ll find him.”
“The mob?” Her cheeks paled.
“Just kidding, but I can find him.”
“OK. When do I start?”
“Now unless you’re busy.”
“Now’s fine.”
I gave Claire the dime tour of Dad’s home office and set her up with the computer. She wrote down everything she knew about Evan and gave me the keys to her apartment. An hour later I charged back out into the storm to find Evan Sorbeck with a thermos of hot cocoa and a hunch.
Claire’s apartment was in a snazzy new complex in Chesterfield. It was a pretty exclusive neighborhood for a transcriptionist. Evan must’ve been quite a salesman to afford it. I let myself in and went straight to the master bedroom closet. It was a walk-in with most of it dedicated to Claire. She had twenty-two purses with matching shoes. My purse and shoes have never matched in my life. Evan’s side was stark with four white dress shirts, one dark blue suit, two pairs of dress shoes and one striped tie. It didn’t look like a complete wardrobe to me. The chest of drawers didn’t store much either. Evan had one pair of underwear and socks. Assuming he was wearing a pair, he only had two pairs of underwear to his name. I’d never known a guy to have less than a dozen. If they’re single, guys might have thirty, so they don’t have to wash them more than once a month. Of course, I’d known a couple of guys who’d wear them inside out to extend the time between washings to two months, but I didn’t want to dwell on that. In the bathroom, Evan only had the bare necessities, razor, aftershave, etc…
They had a small home office. Evan had no files in the cabinet. There were two computer games that featured gore next to the computer. I figured those for Evan. Otherwise, I hadn’t a clue to where he was or what kind of guy Claire had married. There were a couple of framed snapshots of Claire and a man mixed in with photos of her family. I even found a graduation picture of the two of us. The man, who I took for Evan, was in his thirties, overweight with suspiciously thick brown hair. He didn’t look like Claire’s type. Maybe she’d decided that her failures had something to do with her choices and decided on a change of pace. I slid the picture out of its frame and put it in my purse. The apartment said Claire to me. It had her style, beige with a touch
“What’s the company?”
Her cheeks flushed and she started blinking like crazy.
“Why don’t we sit down.” I led her through the dining room and I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror behind the fireplace. Her head was bowed, shoulders defeated. I left Claire in the living room checking out Mom’s collection of Chinese export porcelain and went to get drinks. It was hot cocoa for me and chamomile tea for her, no sugar.
I set the drinks tray down on the coffee table and sat. “Dad is expensive, but he is worth it.”
Claire sat and said, “I had no idea, but I can pay after I get another job.”
“What do you do?” I said.
“I’m a transcriptionist.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“You’re a typist? How fast?”
“A hundred a minute.”
“No shit? No wonder you were Ms. Perkins’ favorite.” Ms. Perkins was our high school typing teacher. Claire was her pet and Ms. Perkins wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom even if my eyes were turning yellow.
“It’s a talent, I guess,” she said.
“I guess. Look, I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You need someone to find Chris…”
“Evan.”
“Right. Evan. And I need someone to type up a bunch of reports for Dad. I was supposed to do it, but you know me, thirty a minute.”
Claire leaned forward, balancing her mug on her knees and warming her hands with the steam. “So your Dad will find Evan if I type his reports?”
“No. Dad’s in Florida. You type the reports and I’ll find Evan.”
“You can do that?”
“You’d be amazed what you pick up around here. Unless he pissed off the mob, I’ll find him.”
“The mob?” Her cheeks paled.
“Just kidding, but I can find him.”
“OK. When do I start?”
“Now unless you’re busy.”
“Now’s fine.”
I gave Claire the dime tour of Dad’s home office and set her up with the computer. She wrote down everything she knew about Evan and gave me the keys to her apartment. An hour later I charged back out into the storm to find Evan Sorbeck with a thermos of hot cocoa and a hunch.
Claire’s apartment was in a snazzy new complex in Chesterfield. It was a pretty exclusive neighborhood for a transcriptionist. Evan must’ve been quite a salesman to afford it. I let myself in and went straight to the master bedroom closet. It was a walk-in with most of it dedicated to Claire. She had twenty-two purses with matching shoes. My purse and shoes have never matched in my life. Evan’s side was stark with four white dress shirts, one dark blue suit, two pairs of dress shoes and one striped tie. It didn’t look like a complete wardrobe to me. The chest of drawers didn’t store much either. Evan had one pair of underwear and socks. Assuming he was wearing a pair, he only had two pairs of underwear to his name. I’d never known a guy to have less than a dozen. If they’re single, guys might have thirty, so they don’t have to wash them more than once a month. Of course, I’d known a couple of guys who’d wear them inside out to extend the time between washings to two months, but I didn’t want to dwell on that. In the bathroom, Evan only had the bare necessities, razor, aftershave, etc…
They had a small home office. Evan had no files in the cabinet. There were two computer games that featured gore next to the computer. I figured those for Evan. Otherwise, I hadn’t a clue to where he was or what kind of guy Claire had married. There were a couple of framed snapshots of Claire and a man mixed in with photos of her family. I even found a graduation picture of the two of us. The man, who I took for Evan, was in his thirties, overweight with suspiciously thick brown hair. He didn’t look like Claire’s type. Maybe she’d decided that her failures had something to do with her choices and decided on a change of pace. I slid the picture out of its frame and put it in my purse. The apartment said Claire to me. It had her style, beige with a touch
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