The Undertaker

“My fault. I should have warned you. When they look at the charge slip and see what you bought, it won't be hard for them to figure out I'm with you, not after you left work and didn't go back home.”

“But they don't know where we are,” she said.

“True, but Tinkerton will flood the streets with people. You sure there's no way they can trace you here through your aunt?”

“No. She's one of my mother's half-sisters. If you think the Kasmareks are fun, they won't get squat out of the Chickarellis or the DePieros.”

“Okay, you can turn back around now,” I told her as I slipped on the jacket.

“No need, I've been watching you in the reflection on the sliding glass door,” she laughed as she turned around and looked me up and down proudly. “Voila! One of my finest creations, the new Peter Talbott.”

I looked at myself in the hallway mirror. “You did good, you really did.”

She stepped closer, smiling happily for the first time that day. “It was fun buying things for someone who at least half-way appreciates it,” she said as she looked up at me. I could tell from her nervous energy that she wanted to touch me or hug me or kiss me if I gave her even the slightest opening, and I couldn't let that happen.

“I appreciate it, really.” I turned away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

“Great,” she said awkwardly. “Look, I have another idea.” I turned and looked back at her, questioning. “Every now and then, I do get one, you know.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You don't have to. I know you think I'm a ditz.” I started to argue, but she waved me off. “I'm a sucker for nice guys with puppy-dog eyes, so don't ruin this for me,” she warned. “Remember that hearing on TV earlier? Senator Hardin's? Why don't we send him some of the spreadsheets with a note about the funeral home and the bodies in that cemetery back in Columbus. I'll bet “Tough Tim” will know what to do with them. Then we can give him a call and get some real help.”

I stopped and looked at her in a new light. “Hardin?” I thought it over. “You know, that's not a bad idea. In fact, it's a very good idea.”

She seemed to glow. “I thought so too. There's a Fed Ex service center over on Wabash. If we get it over there first thing, he can have it the next day. Now let's eat before the dumplings and pork get cold and the beer gets warm.”

We went into the tiny kitchen and started opening the food containers. “I guess we should spend the night here,” she ventured, her eyes on the food.

“That would be great, because I'm exhausted and I really need some sleep. You take your aunt's room and I'll crash out there on the couch.”

“She has a king-sized bed,” she said quietly. She looked up at me. Our eyes met. She looked scared, but she knew exactly what she was saying.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Sandy,” I answered.

“I only meant to sleep, Talbott,” she said angrily. “It wasn't an invitation.”

“It's still not a good idea.”

“When it's an invitation, you'll know it. But Jeez, you really did live under a rock, out there, didn't you?” She picked up the six-pack, stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door.

We were up early and out the door before 9:00. I was wearing a pair of the new slacks, one of the shirts she bought, and the blazer. Sandy came out in another of her aunt's outfits – designer jeans with a deep green top, her aunt's white beret covering most of her black hair, a pair of clean, white Reeboks, and a bad hangover. She shuffled over to the medicine cabinet, looking half-dead, and swallowed a handful of aspirin. She continued to stare into the mirror, waiting for them to work, while I went around the rooms throwing out trash and straightening things up.

“How many of those beers did you have?”

“Not enough,” I heard her mumble.

Obviously, something was bothering her more than just the hangover, but this wasn't the time for me to find out what it was. She stuffed the blond wig in her shoulder bag, laid the camera in on top of it, and headed for the door. “Let's go,” she said. “The sooner we get this done, the happier I'll be.”

There was an Irish pub on the corner with an all-you-can-eat egg and corned beef hash breakfast buffet. I had all the above and she had two beers and half of a dry English muffin. By the time we finished, it looked like she might live.

“Your usual breakfast?” I asked. I knew I had to say something. I couldn't leave things like this. “You're pissed at me, aren't you?” I asked.

She looked away and I could see she was close to tears. “Look, this past year hasn't been a lot of fun for me, Talbott, and I did something really stupid last night, something I've never done before. I'm not some bimbo or tramp, and I'm not a one-night stand, but you were there. You seem like a nice guy and I figured I'd never see you again, so I made a big mistake. I reached out for a little warmth and affection…”

“I'm really sorry, Sandy.

“Do you know how much you hurt me last night? How humiliated I felt?

“I didn't want to get you in this thing any deeper.”

“It was only sex, Peter.”

“It's never only sex, Sandy. You might be over Eddie, and maybe that was what you needed last night, but I haven't even begun to be over Terri. It has nothing to do with you. I swear. It's about me. God knows I'd love to. You're beautiful, and smart, and a lot of fun to be with, but I can't.”

She glared at me for a moment, then burst into tears. “Damn you, Peter Talbott! Now look what you've done. I can't even get mad at you.”

I put both of my hand on hers. ”I'm sorry. I'm really sorry,” I told her.

“Just when I'm convinced you're the biggest jerk I ever met and I'm ready to throw you out the door, you have to go say something like that. Let's get out of here before I really do kill you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the street.

We were in and out of the FedEx service center by 10:00. It took thirty-eight dollars from the Sheriff's coffee fund to buy a padded mailer and send a sample of printouts and a letter to Washington, DC for delivery the next morning, but it was worth it.

“I have another idea.” Sandy pointed to a payphone inside the door and said, “Let's give Hardin's office a call and tell him it's on the way.” She looked at me, again. “It's not like I have a daily quota, you know.”

I called Washington DC information and they connected me to the Senate Office Building's main number. I asked for Hardin's office and then handed the phone to Sandy as they connected us. “Your idea. Go for it.”

“Hi,” she started in on the receptionist with a warm, bubbly voice. “I know the Senator's probably not in, but I'm calling for Peter Talbott, and… No, the Senator doesn't know him... Could you tell him that Peter Talbott overnighted a FedEx package to him... Yes, Peter Talbott. It's some spreadsheets on the Santorini mob in New Jersey… Yes, Santorini. They are Louie Panozzo's books... Yeah, I'm sure he will. Look, tell him to be looking for that package and we'll call him tomorrow.”

Sandy hung up and we went outside and quickly walked away from the FedEx office. “By the way, did I tell you I worked in Hardin's campaign?” she said. I looked at her, knowing a story was coming. “Well, not really “worked.” I stuffed envelopes for two weekends in his office downtown. He has a cute smile and a nice set of buns, but without a nametag, he wouldn't know me from the water cooler. They threw a pretty good party every Saturday night for the volunteers, so I thought it might be fun. He showed up the second weekend. Things got a little drunk and he gave me a ride home.”

“The water cooler wasn't available?”

“Nothing happened. It was a month after Eddie walked out on me, and I wouldn't have minded a little hot, sweaty groping to get even. But not from him. He's married and at heart I'm really not a bimbo.”

“Not at heart?”

“Thanks!” She glared up at me. “You know, this isn't a particularly good morning for you to give me shit, Talbott. I don't have to be here.”