Passage

normal.”

“He probably is,” Joanna said. “Harold and Maude’s a really good movie, and he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. People in our society don’t want to talk about death. They do pretend it’s not there and it’s not going to happen to them.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting we should accept him into the project?” Richard said.

“No,” Joanna said. “He’s a little too fascinated by the subject matter, and his comments about the hanging scene were rather disturbing. And we’ve got a rule about movies with death in them.” She grinned at him.

“This isn’t funny,” Richard said. “How many volunteers are left on the list? Three?”

“Four,” Joanna said. “Ms. Coffey’s next. She’ll be here at ten.”

“The data systems manager,” Richard said, cheering up. “Great. She’s got an MBA and works for Colotech.”

That isn’t any guarantee, Joanna thought, although she had to agree with Richard. MBAs weren’t usually the Harold and Maude type, and Ms. Coffey looked extremely promising when she arrived. She was dressed in a stylish black suit, and her sleek haircut, her makeup, were the image of Corporate Woman. When Joanna asked her to tell her a little bit about herself, she opened her Corporate Woman day planner and pulled out a folded sheet of cream-colored vellum. “I know you have my application,” she said, “but I thought a resume might be useful, too.” She smiled and handed it to Richard.

“Why did you volunteer for the project?” Joanna asked.

“As you can see on my resume—” Ms. Coffey said and pulled out another folded sheet. She smiled. “I brought an extra one, just in case. In my job, details really matter.” She handed the resume to Joanna. “As you can see, under ‘Service,’ ” she pointed out the place, “I do a lot of work with the community. Last year I participated in a sleep study at University Hospital.” She smiled warmly at Richard. “And when Dr. Wright described the project, I thought it sounded interesting.”

“Have you ever had a near-death experience?” Joanna asked.

“You mean where I nearly died and then experienced a tunnel and a light? No.”

“What about an out-of-body experience?” Joanna asked.

“Where people imagine they actually leave their bodies?” she said, frowning skeptically. “No.”

“Are you familiar with the works of Maurice Mandrake?” Joanna asked, watching her closely, but there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition as she shook her sleekly coiffed head.

Richard fidgeted, trying to catch Joanna’s eye. He was obviously convinced, and there wasn’t anything suspicious in Ms. Coffey’s background. “If we asked you to participate in the project,” Joanna asked, “when would you be available?”

“Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons,” Ms. Coffey said, “but Mondays would be the best for me. My psychic powers are strongest on days governed by the moon goddess. Because of the sympathetic harmonic vibrations.”

“We’ll let you know,” Joanna said. Ms. Coffey gave them each a copy of her business card. “My home and office numbers are there, and my cell phone number. Or you can contact me via e-mail.”

“Or via telepathy. My God!” Richard exploded as soon as the door was safely shut behind her. “Are they all crazy?”

I hope not, Joanna thought and pulled out Mrs. Troudtheim’s file. She made a note to ask her why she’d volunteered to drive all the way from Deer Trail to participate in a research project and hoped there was a rational answer. Rural Colorado tended to have more than its share of UFO abductees and cattle mutilation conspiracy theorists.

“Oh, but I’m not driving,” she told Joanna. “I have to have a whole bunch of dental work done, and you never know about the weather this time of year so I’m staying with my son till it’s all done. But you know how it is, living with your kids. I thought participating in a study was a way to get out of my daughter-in-law’s hair once in a while. And I hate just setting around doing nothing.”

Apparently. “Do you mind if I crochet while we talk?” she had asked Joanna at the beginning of the interview and, when Joanna said she didn’t, had pulled out yarn and a half-finished orange-and-yellow-green afghan and begun working on it with work-weathered hands.

Joanna asked her about Deer Trail and her life on the ranch. Mrs. Troudtheim’s answers were comfortable and matter-of-fact, and when Joanna asked her to describe the ranch, she was impressed with the detailed and vivid picture she gave of the land and cattle. If she participated in the project, she would be a good observer. Joanna was also impressed with her friendly, comfortable manner and her open face.

“You told Dr. Wright you’ve never had a near-death experience,” Joanna said, consulting her notes, “Have you ever known anyone who had one?”

“No,” Mrs. Troudtheim said, looping the yarn around the crochet hook and pulling it through the edge of the afghan, “the day before my aunt died, she said she saw her sister—that was my mother—standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in a long white dress. My mother had been dead for several years, but my aunt said she saw her standing there, plain as day, and that she knew she’d come for her. She died the next day.”

“And what did you think of that?” Joanna asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, pulling out a length of yarn thoughtfully. “The doctor had her on pretty heavy medication. And I can’t see my mother in a long dress. She hated draggy skirts. People sometimes see what they want to see.”

But I’ll bet you don’t, Joanna thought, and asked her what times she had available.

“She’s the most promising subject yet,” she told Richard after Mrs. Troudtheim had crammed the afghan back in her tote bag and departed. “She reminds me of my relatives in Kansas, tough and kind and realistic, the type who can survive anything and probably have. I think she’ll be perfect for the project. I was especially impressed with her observational skills.”

“Except that she’s obviously color-blind. Did you see that afghan?” Richard asked, shuddering.

“You obviously have never been to Kansas,” Joanna said. “That one wasn’t half bad.”

“Whatever you say,” Richard said.

Joanna grinned. “I say she’ll make an excellent subject.”

“I’d settle for just a subject.”

Me, too, Joanna thought, relieved that she had finally found someone she could okay. She looked at the schedule. Mr. Sage was next, and then Mr. Pearsall, but not until one-thirty. If Mr. Sage’s interview didn’t take too long, she should be able to get down to see Mrs. Woollam. There wouldn’t be time for a full interview, but she could at least run down and meet her, get her to sign a waiver, and set up an interview for this afternoon. If Mr. Sage wasn’t long-winded.

He wasn’t. In fact, she had trouble getting anything out of him. Mr. Sage gave brief, bitten-off answers to everything she asked, which worried Joanna a little. She wondered how forthcoming he would be about what he’d seen in the NDE. But he wasn’t a psychic, or overly interested in death. And he had the best answer yet for why he had volunteered for the project: “My wife made me.”

“What’s your opinion of near-death experiences?” Joanna asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never thought much about them.” Good, Joanna thought, and asked him about his schedule.

“He was awfully silent,” Richard fretted after he’d left.

“He’ll be fine. People vary in their descriptive powers.” She stood up. “Richard, I’m going to go—” she began, and her pager went off.

She had already gotten in trouble with Vielle today by not answering it—she’d better at least see who it was. She called the operator, who gave her Maisie’s number. “She said it’s an emergency and you need to call her immediately. I, for one, would appreciate it if you did,” the operator said. “She’s been calling all morning, pestering me to page you on the intercom.”

“Okay,” Joanna laughed, and did.

“You have to come down right now!” an agitated Maisie said. “Ms. Sutterly found out about the crewman on the Hindenburg like you wanted, and you have to come down so I can tell you.”

“I can’t right now, Maisie,” Joanna said. “I have an appointment—”