Greg Hamden’s name suddenly came to mind. He and Clint had worked so closely together on the project. Yes. He’d be able to fill in the gaps.
Then Cindy thought of Henry Greerson. Maybe he could also help. He’d called several times, saying he had something to give her. He’d asked to take her for coffee. Even though she never felt comfortable with him, Clint had always liked him. They’d worked closely together . Seemed like it was time to take him up now on his invitation.
Cindy got up, went to the window and looked out at the garden. It was the middle of the night. The trees were being wildly buffeted by the winds that had gone on all day without stopping. The house felt fragile in the storm; not really not able to hold up under the wind’s constant onslaught. She was seized by a fear that a large branch would break off and crack the roof, or burst through the windows as the wind blew against the frail trees. Life suddenly seemed frail to Cindy, as though one could be blown away easily in any storm. She wondered what there was to hold onto? What could she really trust again?
It was almost morning, but Cindy still couldn’t sleep. She needed to talk to Greg. Maybe he’d be willing to meet her for lunch?
Cindy sat back down at Clint’s desk and emailed Greg, asking to set up a time for lunch.
To her surprise, an auto responder immediately replied.
Cindy was shocked.
Cindy had no idea why Greg was no longer at the company. He’d been there even before Clint started working there.
She checked her watch: 5:15am. Bara wouldn’t be in for a few more hours.
Eyes closing with exhaustion, Cindy decided to catch some sleep. And then to call Bara as soon as she woke.
Cindy woke at 9.15, and immediately called Bara. Clint’s former assistant, Cindy knew her. They’d actually met a couple of times.
“I need to reach Greg Hamden,” she said when Bara picked up the phone. “Can you let me know how to contact him?”
“I’m sorry, that information is not available,” said Bara in a clipped tone.
This was ridiculous. Cindy would not be deterred. “It’s extremely important.”
“Who is this calling, please?”
“It’s Cindy Blaine, Clint Blaine’s wife.” Cindy was reluctant to tell her, but had no choice.
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, as if Cindy were the last person Bara expected to call.
“I’m so sorry about Clint,” Bara said quietly then. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” said Cindy.
“I’d love to help you, but -” Obviously, Bara had been told not to give any information out.
“Please,” Cindy interrupted, “Greg was Clint’s good friend. I don’t think he knows what happened to him.”
Bara stopped a moment. “That’s right, Greg left before we heard about Clint.”
“I know Clint would want him to be informed.” Cindy was playing on her feelings blatantly, but she had no choice.
Bara relented. “Okay, don’t tell anyone I’m giving you this.” And she quickly gave Cindy Greg’s phone number.
Cindy was thrilled to have it. “One more thing,” Cindy continued quickly, “Do you happen to have a copy of Clint ‘s report on the Tearwall Project? The one he and Greg worked on?”
A stony silence greeted her.
“Are you there?” Cindy asked.
“Greg and Clint’s business files were emptied out,” Bara said. “ I don’t have any of them,” Her voice became clipped again.
“There has to be a copy somewhere,” Cindy said.
“You’re pushing it,” said Bara.
“Sorry,” Cindy said, “and thanks for Greg’s phone number.”
Cindy hung up in amazement. Pushing what? The Tearwall Report was beginning to seem like the crowned jewels. What could be in it?
There were other people in the company who would know. Before Cindy contacted Greg, she sent a quick email to Greerson, telling him she’d love to arrange a time to meet .
Before she called Greg, Cindy went into the kitchen and poured a cup of steaming black coffee. Her lack of sleep the night before was beginning to take a toll. And Ann didn’t look well. Not only was she still exhausted but had an odd pallor. Cindy couldn’t let herself dwell on that now. But deep in the pit of her stomach, she was worried about her sister, scared that things weren’t going well.
As soon as Cindy dialed his number, Greg picked up immediately.
“Who is it?” he said hurriedly.
“Greg, this is Cindy,” she started, in an upbeat tone. She wanted to start out on the right foot. She’d met him in passing, a couple of times, and remembered him as a lively, positive guy.
“Cindy, who?” he sounded rushed.
“Cindy Blaine,” she answered, disconcerted.
“Oh,” he slowed down a second. “Well, congratulations on your marriage. How’s Clint?”
Cindy felt a deep chill. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what? I’m not working at the company anymore.”
Cindy couldn’t bring herself to say a thing.
“You didn’t hear that I was let go?” Greg went on, even more hurriedly. “It happened while you guys were on your honeymoon. They told everyone I decided to leave. Well, it isn’t true . Frankly, I was surprised that Clint didn’t call when he got back to find out how I was . How come you’re calling and he’s not?” he seemed anxious to hang up.
Cindy didn’t want to tell him over the phone. “I’d like to speak to you in person,” she said. “Can we get together for lunch?”
“I’m not up to it,” he said, scraping his throat. “Tell me what you have to now. I’m a busy man.”
This was not the Greg that Cindy had known, the guy who used to be understanding.
“I can’t talk about it over the phone,” Cindy said.
That got him mad. “Listen, I’ve had enough talking about the company. I’m done with it. Over. There’s nothing more I need to hear.”
“Yes, there is,” said Cindy softly.
“Listen, honey, I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t hang up,” Cindy burst out, terrified of losing him. He was an important link to Clint. “Please, Greg, don’t.”
“What the hell is wrong?” he said bitterly. “Can’t you respect my feelings? Just say what you have to over the phone.”
“Clint is dead,” Cindy announced bluntly.
Greg gasped.
“He was killed on our honeymoon.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need your help.”
“Oh no, oh no,” he couldn’t speak.
“Please meet me in person. I need to talk to you.”
Cindy thought she heard a sob. He was still for a few moments and then spoke in a raspy voice.
