4

I still had two hours before the flight back to Millhaven, and Tangent was only two miles down the highway past the airport. I drove until I came to streets lined with handsome houses set far back on wide lawns. After a while, the quiet streets led into a part of town with four-story office buildings and old-fashioned department stores.

I parked on a square with a fountain and walked around the square until I found a diner. The waitress at the counter gave me a cup of coffee and the telephone book. I took the book to the pay telephone near the kitchen and called Judy Leatherwood.

The same quavery voice I had heard at Tom's house said hello.

I couldn't remember the name of the insurance company Tom had invented. "Mrs. Leatherwood, do you remember getting a call from the Millhaven branch of our insurance company a few nights ago?"

"Oh, yes, I do," she said. "Mr. Bell? I remember speaking to him. This is about my brother-in-law's insurance?"

"I'd like to come out to speak to you about the matter," I said.

"Well, I don't know. Have you located my nephew?"

"He may have changed his name," I said.

For about ten seconds, she said nothing. "I just don't feel right about all this. I've been worried ever since I talked to Mr. Bell." Another long pause. "Did you give me your name?"

"Mister Underhill," I said.

"I think I shouldn't have said those things to Mr. Bell. I don't really know what that boy did—I don't feel right about it. Not at all."

"I understand that," I said. "It might help both of us if we could have a talk this afternoon."

"My son said he never heard of any insurance company doing things that way."

"We're a small family firm," I said. "Some of our provisions are unique to us."

"What was the name of your company again, Mr. Underhill?"

Then, blessedly, it came to me. "Mid-States Insurance."

"I just don't know."

"It'll only take a minute or two—I have to get on a flight back to Millhaven."

"You came all this way just to see me? I guess it would be okay."

I said I'd be there soon, hung up, and showed her address to the waitress. The directions she gave took me back the way I had come.

When I drove up to the nursing home, I realized that I had mistaken it for a grade school when I had driven past it on the way into town. It was a long low building of cream-colored brick with big windows on either side of a curved entrance. I parked in front of a sign that read FAIRHOME CENTER FOR THE AGED and walked toward a concrete apron beneath a wide red marquee. An electronic door whooshed open and let out a wave of cool air.

A woman who looked like Betty Crocker smiled when I came up to a white waist-high counter and asked if she could help me. I said that I wanted to see Mrs. Leatherwood.

"It'll be nice for Judy to have a visitor," she said. "Are you family?"

"No, I'm a friend," I said. "I was just speaking to her on the phone."

"Judy is in the Blue Wing, down the hall and through the big doors. Room six, on your right. I can get an aide to show you the way."

I said that I could find it by myself, and went down the hall and pushed open a bright blue door. Two uniformed nurses stood at a recessed station, and one of them came toward me. "Are you looking for one of the residents?"

"Judy Leatherwood," I said.

She smiled, said, "Oh, yes," and took me past the nurses' station to an open door and a room with a hospital bed and a bulletin board crowded with pictures of a young couple and two blond little boys. An old woman in a print dress sat on a wooden chair in front of a desk below the bright window at the end of the room. The light behind her head darkened her face. An aluminum walker stood beside her legs. "Judy, you have a visitor," the nurse said.

Her white hair gleamed in the light from the window. "Mister Underhill?"

"It's nice to meet you," I said, and came toward her. She lifted her face, showing me the thick, milky glaze over both of her eyes.

"I don't like this business," she said. "I don't want to be rewarded for my nephew's misfortune. If the boy is in trouble, won't he need that money himself?"

"That may not be an issue," I said. "May I sit down for a minute?"

She kept her face pointed toward the door. Her hands twisted in her lap. "I suppose."

Before I sat down, she asked, "Do you know where my nephew is? I'd like to know that."

"I want to ask you a question," I said.

She turned briefly to me and then back to the door. "I don't know what I should say."

"When your nephew lived with you, did you notice any scars on his body? Small, circular scars?"

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Is this important?"

"It is," I said. "I understand that this must be difficult for you."

She lowered her hand and shook her head. "Fee had scars on his chest. He never said how he got them."

"But you thought you knew."

"Mister Underhill, if you're telling me the truth about any of this rigamarole, please tell me where he is."

"Your nephew was a major in the Green Berets, and he was a hero," I said. "He was killed leading a team on a special mission into the DMZ in 1972."

"Oh, heavens." She said it twice more. Then she started to cry, softly, without moving in any way. I took a tissue from the box on her dresser and put it into her hands, and she dabbed her eyes.

"So there won't be any trouble about the money," I said.

I make an extravagant amount of money from writing, not as much as Sidney Sheldon or Tom Clancy but a lot anyhow, a matter I talk about only with my agent and my accountant. I have no family, and there's no one to spend it on except myself. I did what I had decided to do on the airplane if I learned conclusively that Fee Bandolier had grown up to be Franklin Bachelor, took my checkbook out of my briefcase, and wrote her a check for five thousand dollars.

"I'll give you a personal check right now," I said. "It's a little irregular, but there's no need to make you wait for our accounting office to process the papers, and I can get reimbursement from Mr. Bell."

"Oh, this is wonderful," she said. "I never dreamed—you know, what makes me so happy is that Fee—"

"I'm happy for you." I put the check in her hands. She clenched it into the tissue and dabbed her eyes again.

"Judy?" A man in a tight, shiny suit bustled into the room. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here right away, but I was on the phone. Are you all right?"

Before she could answer, he whirled toward me. "Bill Baxter. I run the business office here. Who are you, and what are you doing?"

I stood up and told him my name. "If Mrs. Leatherwood spoke to you about our earlier conversation—"

"You bet she did, and I want you out of here right now. We're going to my office, and I'm calling the police."

"Mr. Baxter, this man—"

"This man is a fraud," Baxter said. He grabbed my arm.

"I came here to give Mrs. Leatherwood a check," I said. "It represents the death benefit on a small insurance policy."

"He gave me a check, he did," Judy Leatherwood said. She extricated it from the tissue and flapped it at Baxter.

He snatched the check away from her, looked at me, back at the check, and then at me again. "This is a personal check."

"I didn't see any reason to make Mrs. Leatherwood wait two or three months for our office to issue the payment," I said, and repeated my statement about reimbursement.

Baxter dropped his arms. I could almost see the question mark floating over his head. "This doesn't make any sense. Your check is on a New York bank."

"I'm a troubleshooter for my company. I was in Millhaven when Mrs. Leatherwood's problem came up."

"He told me about my nephew—Fee was a major in Vietnam."

"Special Forces," I said. "He had quite a career."

Baxter scowled at the check again. "I think we'll use your phone to get in touch with Mr. Underhill's company."

"Why not call the bank to see if the check is covered?" I asked him. "Isn't that the main point?"

"You're giving her this money yourself?"

"You could look at it like that," I said.

Baxter stewed for a moment and then picked up the telephone and asked for directory assistance in New York. He put the call through the home's switchboard and asked to speak to the manager of my branch. He spoke for a long time without getting anywhere and finally said, "I'm holding a five-thousand-dollar check this man made out to one of our residents. I want to be assured that he can cover it."

There was a long pause. Baxter's face grew red.

"I knew I should have called Jimmy," said Judy Leatherwood.

"All right," Baxter said. "Thank you. I'll personally deposit the check this afternoon." He hung up and looked at me for a moment before handing the check back to her. The question mark still hung over his head. "Judy, you just got five thousand dollars, but I'm not sure why. When you first talked to this insurance company, did someone tell you the amount you were supposed to get?"

"Five thousand," she said, with an extra wobble in her voice.

"I'll walk Mr. Underhill to the door." He stepped out into the hall and waited for me to follow him.

I said good-bye to Judy Leatherwood and joined Baxter in the hallway. He set off at a quick march toward the big blue doors and the entrance, giving me sharp, inquisitive glances as we went. Betty Crocker waved good-bye to me. Once we got outside, Baxter stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shiny suit. "Are you going to explain what you just did in there?"

"I gave her a check for five thousand dollars."

"But you don't work for any insurance company."

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Was her nephew really a Green Beret major?"

I nodded.

"Does this money come from him?"

"You might say that he owes a lot of people," I said.

He thought it over. "I think my responsibility ends at this point. I'm going to say good-bye to you, Mr. Underhill." He didn't offer to shake hands. I walked to my car, and he stood in the sun on the concrete apron until I drove past the entrance.