Pressing the door-release button, Anne went to the door to her apartment and pulled it open in anticipation of her unexpected guest. Anne Murphy was surprised enough that someone was paying a house call; when she saw that he was an Oriental, she was shocked. The fact that the man’s name was Oriental hadn’t registered.
The stranger was about Anne’s height but stocky and muscular with coal-black short hair and tanned skin. He was dressed in a dark, slightly shiny business suit with a white shirt and dark tie. Over his arm he carried a belted Burberry coat.
“I beg your pardon,” Tanaka said. He had only a slight accent. He bowed and extended his business card. The card simply read: Tanaka Yamaguchi, Industrial Consultant.
With one hand pressed against her throat and the other clutching the business card, Anne was at a loss for words.
“I must speak to you about your son Sean,” Tanaka said.
As if recovering from a blow, Anne found her voice: “What’s happened? Is he in trouble again?”
“No,” Tanaka said. “Has he been in trouble before?”
“As a teenager,” Anne said. “He was a very headstrong boy. Very active.”
“American children can be troublesome,” Tanaka said. “In Japan the children are taught to respect their elders.”
“But Sean’s father could be difficult,” Anne said, surprised at her admission. She felt flustered and wasn’t sure if she should invite the man in or not.
“I’m interested in your son’s business dealings,” Tanaka said. “I know he is a fine student at Harvard, but is he involved with any companies that produce biological products?”
“He and a group of his friends started a company called Immunotherapy,” Anne said, relieved that the conversation was turning to the more positive moments of her son’s checkered past.
“Is he still involved with this Immunotherapy?” Tanaka asked.
“He doesn’t talk to me about it too much,” Anne said.
“Thank you very much,” Tanaka said with another bow. “Have a nice day.”
Anne watched as the man turned and disappeared down the stairs. She was almost as surprised at the sudden end to the conversation as she’d been at the man’s visit. She stepped out into the hall just in time to hear the front door close two floors down. Returning to her apartment, she closed the door and bolted it behind her.
It took her a moment to pull herself together. It had been a strange episode. After glancing at Tanaka’s card, she slipped it into her apron pocket. Then she went back to putting food into the refrigerator. She thought about calling Brian but decided she could tell him about the Japanese man’s visit that evening. Provided, of course, that Brian came. She decided that if he didn’t come, then she’d call.
An hour later Anne was absorbed in making a cake when the door buzzer startled her again. At first she worried that the Japanese man had returned with more questions. Maybe she should have called Brian. With some trepidation she pressed the intercom button and asked who was there.
“Sterling Rombauer,” a deep masculine voice replied. “Is this Anne Murphy?”
“Yes . . .”
“I would very much like to speak to you about your son Sean Murphy,” Sterling said.
Anne caught her breath. She couldn’t believe yet another stranger was there to ask questions about her second born.
“What about him?” she asked.
“I’d rather talk to you in person,” Sterling said.
“I’ll come down,” Anne said.
Rinsing her hands of flour, Anne started down the stairs. The man was standing in the foyer, a camel-hair coat thrown over his arm. Like the Japanese man, he was wearing a business suit and white shirt. His tie was a bright red foulard.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sterling said through the glass.
“Why are you asking about my son?” Anne demanded.
“I’ve been sent by the Forbes Cancer Center in Miami,” Sterling explained.
Recognizing the name of the institution where Sean was working, Anne opened the door and gazed up at the stranger. He was an attractive man with a broad face and straight nose. His hair was light brown and mildly curly. Anne thought he could have been Irish except for his name. He was over six feet tall with eyes as blue as those of her own sons.
“Has Sean done something I should know about?” she asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Sterling said. “The management of the clinic routinely looks into the background of the people who work there. Security is an important issue with them. I merely wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Like what?” Anne asked.
“Has your son been involved with any biotechnology companies to your knowledge?”
“You are the second person to ask that question in the last hour,” Anne said.
“Oh?” Sterling said. “Who may I ask made similar inquiries?”
Anne reached into her apron pocket and drew out Tanaka’s business card. She handed it to Sterling. Anne could see the man’s eyes narrow. He handed her the card back.
“And what did you tell Mr. Yamaguchi?” Sterling asked.
“I told him my son and a few friends had started their own biotechnology company,” Anne said. “They called it Immunotherapy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Murphy,” Sterling said. “I appreciate your talking with me.”
Anne watched the elegant stranger descend the steps in front of her house and climb into the back seat of a dark sedan. His driver was in uniform.
More baffled than ever, Anne went back upstairs. After some indecision she picked up the phone and called Brian. After apologizing for interrupting his busy day, she told him about her two, curious visitors.
“That’s odd,” Brian said when she was finished.
“Should we be worried about Sean?” Anne asked. “You know your brother.”
“I’ll call him,” Brian said. “Meanwhile, if anyone else comes asking questions, don’t tell them anything. Just refer them to me.”
“I hope I didn’t say anything wrong,” Anne said.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Brian assured her.
“Will we be seeing you later?”
“I’m still working on it,” Brian said. “But if I’m not there by eight eat without me.”
WITH THE Miami street map open on the seat next to her, Janet managed to find her way back to the Forbes residence. She was pleased when she saw Sean’s Isuzu in the parking lot. She was hoping to find him home since she had what she thought was good news. She’d found an airy, pleasant furnished apartment on the southern tip of Miami Beach that even had a limited view of the ocean from the bathroom. When she’d first started looking for apartments she’d been discouraged since it was “in season.” The place she found had been reserved a year in advance, but the people had unexpectedly canceled. Their cancellation had come in five minutes before Janet stepped into the real estate office.
Grabbing her purse and her copy of the rental agreement, Janet went up to her apartment. She took a few minutes to wash her face and change into shorts and a tank top. Then with lease in hand she walked down the balcony to Sean’s slider. She found him glumly slouched on the couch.
“Good news!” Janet said cheerfully. She plopped down in the armchair across from him.
“I could use some of that,” Sean said.
“I found an apartment,” she announced. She brandished the lease. “It’s not fabulous, but it’s a block from the beach, and best of all it’s a straight shot out the expressway to the Forbes.”
“Janet, I don’t know whether I can stay here,” Sean said. He sounded depressed.
