mention of an investigation. Of course, the family has requested an autopsy, but Goldfarb spins it as a hope to help others with similar ailments. Brilliant touch. Just to be safe, though, the autopsy’s set for Sunday, which means it won’t be the topic of the weekend talk shows, and if the results show it’s a murder, it’ll be too late for the major magazines to make it a cover story. For at least two days, I’m safe. I try to tell myself that it may be over-that it’ll all go away-but like Nora said, I’m a terrible liar.
Dinnertime comes and goes, and I still don’t move from the couch. My stomach is screaming, but I can’t stop flipping through channels. I have to be sure. I need to know no one is using those words: Suspicion. Foul Play. Murder.
The thing is, there’s no mention of it anywhere. Whatever Adenauer and the FBI have found, they’re keeping it to themselves. Relieved, I lean my head back on my rent-a-couch and finally accept that it’s going to be a quiet night.
There’s a loud knock on my door.
“Who is it?” I ask.
There’s no answer. They just bang harder.
“Who is it?” I repeat, raising my voice.
Nothing.
I move quickly from the couch and head toward the door. Along the way, I pick up an umbrella that’s hanging on the knob of the coat closet. It’s a pathetically bad weapon, but it’s the best I’ve got. Slowly, I bring my eye to the peephole and get a look at my imagined enemy. Pam.
Undoing the locks, I pull open the door. She’s holding her briefcase in one hand and a blue plastic shopping bag in the other. Her eyes go right to the umbrella. “Nervous much?”
“I didn’t know who it was.”
“So that’s what you grab? You’ve got a kitchen full of steak knives and you grab an umbrella? What’re you going to do? Keep-me-dry to death?” She shoots me a warm smile and holds up the blue bag. “Now, c’mon, how about inviting me in? I brought Thai food.”
I move out of her way and she steps inside. “And you call
“Just hold this,” she adds, handing me her briefcase and heading for the kitchen. Before I can react, she’s rummaging through cabinets and drawers, collecting plates and silverware. When she has what she needs, she moves to the small dining area outside the kitchen and unloads three cartons of Thai food from the blue bag. Dinner is served.
Confused, I’m still standing by the door. “Pam, can I ask you a question?”
“As long as you make it quick. I’m starving.”
“What’re you doing here?”
She looks up from the Pad Thai and her expression changes. “Here?” she asks. Her voice is hurt, almost pained. “I was worried about you.”
Her answer catches me off guard. It’s almost too honest. I take a step toward the dining room table and return her smile. She really is a good friend. And we can both use the company. “I appreciate what you’re doing.”
“You should’ve called me earlier.”
“I tried all afternoon, but you weren’t there.”
“That’s because the FBI was questioning me for two hours. We do share an office, y’know.”
Right there, I lose my appetite. “What’d you say to them?”
“I answered their questions. They asked me what Caroline was working on, and I told them everything I knew.”
“Did you tell them about me and Nora?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she says with a grin. “I don’t know anything, Mr. Agent. I just remember him leaving the office.”
As I said, she’s a good friend. “Did they ask you a lot of questions about me?”
“They’re suspicious, but I don’t think they have a clue. They just told me to take the rest of the night off. Now do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”
I’m tempted, but decide against it.
“I know you’re in trouble, Michael. I can see it in your face.”
I keep my eyes focused on the Pad Thai. There’s no reason to get her involved.
“No matter what you’re thinking, you can’t do this one alone. I mean, Nora’s already hung you out to dry, hasn’t she? Nothing’s going to change that. The only question now is whether you’re going to be too stubborn to ask for help.” She reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’d never betray your loyalty, Michael. If I wanted to see you drown, I would’ve done it already.”
“Done what?”
“Told them what I think.”
“Which is?”
“I think you and Nora ran into something you weren’t supposed to. And whatever it was, it’s got you thinking there’s more to Caroline’s heart attack than what they put in the press release.”
I don’t respond.
“You think someone killed her, don’t you?”
All I can do is stay with the Pad Thai.
“We can get out of this, Michael,” she promises. “Just tell me who it was. What’d you see? You don’t have to keep it all to yoursel-”
“Simon,” I whisper.
“What?”
“It’s Simon,” I repeat. “I know it sounds nuts, but that’s who we saw last night.” Once the gates open, it doesn’t take long for me to tell her the whole story. Losing the Secret Service. Finding the bar. Trailing Simon. Getting caught with the money. By the time I’m done, I have to admit I feel the weight lift. There’s nothing worse than being alone.
Slowly wiping her mouth with a napkin, Pam’s still processing the information. “You think he
“I don’t know what to think. I’ve barely had a second to catch my breath.”
She shakes her head at me. “You’re in trouble, Michael. This is Simon we’re talking about.” She says something else, but I don’t hear it. All I notice is that ‘we’ has once again become ‘me.’
My fork slips from my hand and crashes against my plate. Jolted by the noise, I’m back where I started. “So you’re not going to help?”
“N-no, of course not,” she stutters, looking down. “I’ll definitely help.”
Biting the inside of my lip, all I want to do is accept the offer. But the more I watch her pick at her food… I’m not getting her into this-especially when I’m still struggling with how to get out. “I appreciate the ear, but-”
“It’s okay, Michael, I know what I’m doing.”
“No, you-”
“I do,” she interrupts, growing more confident. “I didn’t come here to let you fly alone.” Pausing a moment, she adds, “We’ll get you out of this.”
On my face, I show her a smile, but deep down, I’m praying she’s right. “I was thinking of pulling Simon’s and Caroline’s FBI files. Maybe that’ll tell us why he-”
“Forget about their files,” she says. “I think we should go straight to the FBI and-”
“No!” I blurt, catching us both by surprise. “I’m sorry… I just… I’ve already seen the results of that one. I open my mouth and Simon opens his.”
“But if you tell them-”
“Who do you think they’re going to believe-the Counsel to the President or the young associate who got nabbed with ten grand in his glove compartment? Besides, the moment I start singing, I wreck my life. The vultures and their news vans’ll be sniffing through every piece of dirty laundry they can find.”
“You’re worried about your dad?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
