![[skull and crossbones]](big-skull.gif){kind=small}
To reign is worth ambition though in hell:
Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
No light, but rather darkness visible.
It was still dark when Charles Edward Leichter woke, roused from a fitful series of naps by a relentless internal clock that had never failed him in thirty years of progressive business and personal triumphs. Pitch black and so quiet that the sound of his watch was noticeable, even buried in the warm depths of his sleeping bag.
It was almost four thirty. He didn't have to look at the Rolex Submariner on his wrist to check the hour, he knew it, could feel the seconds ticking off in his head, had known the time at each drowsy stirring in the night, eleven twenty, twelve forty-five, two o'clock, three fifteen. He was looking forward to the coming dawn with barely suppressed excitement, anxious to begin.
The sky was overcast, almost completely obscuring the full moon whose faint glow he could still see, just setting, low in the western sky. There was no hint of breeze and he could faintly hear a mosquito's whine, batting itself in vain against the hood of netting over his head, attracted by the warmth of his breath and blood. He snaked a hand out into the cool air and quickly crushed the insect in a fold of net. Perfect, he thought, in the renewed silence.
He squirmed his six foot six frame out of his down sleeping bag and struggled into his clothes, khaki trousers and shirt from L. L. Bean, and a light wool plaid jacket against the morning chill. The slight effort, at more than eleven thousand feet, made him puff a little, trying to catch his breath, in spite of his strength and stamina at sea level. He grabbed a hasty cup of coffee from an expensive thermos, still hot from the day before, and made quick work of a cold roast beef sandwich, almost frozen from being left out in his pack overnight.
Just perfect, he repeated to himself, swallowing the last chilled morsel in eager anticipation of the morning's fishing. As he started to gather his gear together, he could see the first grey hint of morning glimmering softly over the southern shoulder of the raw granite profile of Mount Humphreys brooding over Humphreys Basin like a drowsy mountain lion. He knew in his bones that today was going to be an ideal day for trout fishing and the middle of the John Muir Wilderness Area, in the Eastern High Sierras of Central California, was an ideal spot for it.
He looked up for a moment from where he knelt arranging his delicate hunting tools, trout flies exquisitely detailed, hand-tied, beautiful in their deadly mimicry, to study the lake glistening faintly before him. He decided quickly and bent down again, working with tweezers to avoid any hint of human scent, picking out those few flies he would use this morning, based on his careful observation of the cloud of insects hovering over the lake the evening before and the damp smell of the air as he worked.
That wuss of a helicopter pilot had been nervous yesterday, afternoon when he'd landed on the stony rise above the lake. He was probably queer anyway, the way he carefully enunciated his words and had his hair buzzed oh so short. His nails were a little too perfect as well. Goddamned fairy!
If it weren't for the fact that he flew the only Aerospatiale Llama in the area, the only aircraft available which could land at that altitude, he would have walked out of the office when he'd seen who he'd be flying with. He almost hoped the little fag would get caught on the way out. Flying in here was against all the rules, and anyone who did risked a heavy fine and censure so the thought of getting him in trouble with the law was pleasant, even if it would have spoiled Charles's own plans.
Pussy. I paid him for the risk, he thought. Paid well. I goddamned sure wasn't going to waste my time walking in like the rest of those suckers. No wonder they always lost!
The lake had looked very promising and it was worth the extra cash to get out here ahead of his competitors, who would be trekking in later that morning, in their Midsummer Golden Trout contest, held each year on the first Friday after the Summer Solstice.
Charles would claim he'd walked in after midnight if he was challenged. He'd rented a room in Bishop and had his rental car dropped off at the roadhead to bolster this story. The others should be parking near it right about now. He'd had one of his old jackets left in the rear window so they'd see that it was his. They were probably groaning right now about how early he must have gotten there. He smiled when he thought of them straining up the steep trail into the high country over Piute Pass. It was all worth it.
The lake was slightly shrunken since the last time he'd been here because of the prolonged drought, which had left the basin with a fraction of its normal winter snow pack, but there might still be a twelve or thirteen inch trophy fish out there. If so, he was ready. He laid out his flies, a few California Mosquitos, several Black Gnats, a Royal Coachman, and one of his favorites, an Elk Hair Caddis. It wasn't used as much in this area but he'd had good luck with it last year a bit farther north, near the Sonora Pass, off highway 108.
The flashlight he held in his teeth was still necessary but it wouldn't be long before the sun crept up over the mountains and brought the flying insects to life over the lake. He wished for a moment he could light up a cigar but knew the smell would spook the fish. He had several good ones in his pack and relished the moment in his mind when he could sit back and savor the smooth taste and aroma, sitting around with his friends, commiserating with them on their bad luck in comparison with his own.
After catching the damned thing, he said to himself with a start. He'd have to hurry and get out to the lake before the sun was fully up and the morning feeding flurry was over.
There were Golden Trout out there, waiting for him. He could feel them, almost see them beneath the dark clear waters, beautiful living relics of the last ice age which had blanketed this region twenty thousand years ago. For a moment he imagined how it must have looked with a thick ice sheet almost filling the basin, grinding the rock to dust, polishing the naked stone, glacial melt-water gathered in clear blue lakes and ponds along the lower edges of the icy cliffs. Those Pleistocene pools would have been teeming with fish, impossibly filled with splashing trout in unsullied profusion before any human had seen these lakes, or even walked on this continent.
One of those fish was waiting for him, enticing him, demanding that he fully expend all his skill and cunning before it gave itself to him. He could see it when he closed his eyes, the quick ripple of the water as it took the fly, the delicate tug on the gossamer thread of line, the setup, the satisfying, almost sexual, struggle and leap as it realized that it had been captured and struggled to escape. Charles Edward Leichter half smiled as he thought about it. Charles liked to win. He liked to make things do what he wanted them to, especially living things. He threw most of the fish he caught back. That way he could catch more of them. He never got tired of it.
His executive assistant, Sarah, was almost ready to reel in, too. He didn't have much on her yet but she was ambitious and he'd made it clear that her best chance was under his firm guidance. She was about to find out that everything in this world had its price. It was a price she wouldn't really mind paying, he was sure. After all, what he wanted she had plenty of, as many times as he wanted it, before she got boring. He was already tired of that bitch over in Personnel. All the fire was played out of her and she was getting whiny. It was just about time to cut her loose. Not before he had little Sarah where he wanted her, though. The bitch was still pretty good in bed. Better than nothing. Better than the original bitch, his wife.
Now Laura, that old bat, was a really cold fish. She'd been pretty hot when he'd married her but it didn't last. Nothing ever did. Maybe the two of them should get together and compare notes. The bitch from Personnel could teach his wife a few tricks about how to really satisfy a man and Laura could share her extensive knowledge of booze.
Nah! Women never like each other that much anyway. They need a man around to keep their interest level up. Just look how that damned Laura's let herself go to hell. She's getting to be an embarrassment. Now Sarah wouldn't need much training to be a real asset as a hostess. She's a fox but has a real classy look to her. She'd look great as an executive wife. She had great poise when she put her mind to it and she'd learn the rest of her duties quickly enough.
Just look how she was coming along with the new computer system! She'd be an attractive asset for formal entertaining, an outstanding trophy to parade before other men, and she could still help out at the office. Maybe I should give her a raise and a title. Vice President, maybe. That'd look good. It wouldn't do to have my new wife be a damned receptionist. People might talk. He'd have to check with his tax accountant and see what made the most sense.
Yeah, maybe it's time to trade in the old bag for a new model with lower mileage and nicer upholstery. He should've come up with some reason to bring Sarah on up to Bishop with him. A few stiff drinks and some friendly persuasion and she would have rolled over on that cute little butt of hers with her legs in the air and said ‘please’ by now.
Anyway, I can call her into the office for some after-hours ‘dictation’ after I get back on Saturday. She'll come across soon enough once the situation is explained to her. It's not as if she had a boyfriend. Not that it would have mattered if she had. Charles always had that checked, to see what sort of obstacles were in his way. I can hardly wait. Hardly! Hah! Hahah! Charles always appreciated his own ready wit.
But that could wait until he got back to the rat race. Right now he was out to win twenty bucks by landing the largest goldie ever taken by anyone, much less his wimpy fishing rivals. Charles Edward Leichter won at everything. He took it seriously. That fact that he'd just spent several thousand dollars fixing it so he could win a twenty dollar bet bothered him not at all. Quickly, he took a last swallow of coffee and picked up his outfit, a Thomas and Thomas Individualist split cane rod coupled with an Ari T. Hart single action reel that, with an extra spool or two, had cost him well over three thousand dollars altogether, but that was just his regular trout gear. He couldn't use cheap stuff. It wouldn't look good. He repeated the names to himself like a well-worn worry stone, Thomas and Thomas, Ari T. Hart, the finest fly rod that money could buy and a reel that most poor stiffs could only dream about. Hah!
He grabbed his small fanny pack of fishing gear and started out for the little rock-strewn cove he'd spotted last night. As he walked, he pulled out his insect repellant and sunscreen and started rubbing them on; high altitude sun could burn quickly, even under clouds, and he didn't want any painful sunburn or mosquito bites to embarrass him back at the office, taking the edge off his victory. Charles Edward Leichter would never be the object of any man's pity.
The eastern sky was getting a little brighter now and he stooped carefully, taking advantage of every boulder and hollow, as he slowly approached the cove to avoid spooking the skitterish goldens. He heard the faint splash of a trout taking an insect off the top of the water and smiled. This is just perfect, he thought as he crouched, still well back from the lake, plotting out his approach and strategy.
He could see the spreading rings of several ripples over toward the far edge of the cove and started moving carefully and slowly into the best position for his first cast, right into the midst of the fish which made those ripples in the act of rising to strike at the insects which formed their steady diet, here in the almost barren alpine fells. He stood up slowly from his crouch, stripping off a few feet of line in preparation for the initial false casts. He noticed a slight tingling sensation in his lips and tongue.
Nerves, he thought, as he edged closer to the water. Then his cheeks started to burn and sweat broke out on his forehead, even though it was still quite chilly. Quickly now, numbness spread over his face and seemed to trickle down his throat. He was suddenly overcome with nausea. Jesus, I must be coming down with the flu or something, he said to himself as his vision started to blur. He staggered back from the edge of the lake toward some rocks he thought he could sit on until this queasy feeling passed. The sick feeling got worse. Much worse. Saliva started to gush into the back of his mouth and the glands suddenly hurt more than he could ever remember them hurting before, more than anything had ever hurt before.
He dropped his rod and vomited the coffee he'd just gulped, together with the remnants of his breakfast, all over the front of his jacket and down his pants and shoes. He fumbled weakly at his jacket, trying unsuccessfully to wipe off the worst of the mess. His skin prickled and his chest hurt. Jesus! Am I having a heart attack? What's happening?
He sat down abruptly, collapsing onto a low outcrop of partially decomposed granite surrounded by sparse vegetation, scattered clumps of primrose monkeyflower at his feet, and a low grass that Charles didn't recognize to one side. He started to pant and noticed that the approaching sunrise was strangely yellow green instead of rosy. A cold wave of horrible pain washed over his body as he fell over backwards and down into a rocky patch of sky pilot behind the ledge, the skunk-like odor of the crushed leaves surrounding him even as his vision started to dim.
He vomited again. He could feel some of it trickle, burning and acrid, into his nose and eyes as he sprawled horribly upside down. He couldn't move. His face felt like it was frozen into a solid mask of excruciating agony. Something was clutching at his heart, squeezing it, and he could hardly breathe. Something is seriously wrong here, he thought, with odd detachment, just before the darkness closed in on him forever.
![[small skull]](skull.gif){kind=small}
Charles Edward Leichter's large outer office had an air of very masculine elegance combined with an un-self-conscious braggadocio. From the large Remington bronze eagle on a spotlit pedestal immediately to the right of the entry and the massive riparian aquarium which duplicated, at obviously considerable cost, an alpine brook complete with scuttling crayfish and three idly-circling rainbows inset into the wall on the left, to the vast oiled-zebrawood surface of the open secretarial desk at the far end of the room, the room spoke of ostentation and wealth.
The sheer-black-stockinged legs of a very curvaceous young blonde woman were currently displayed to their best advantage beneath the surface of that desk, as if the whole room had been deliberately designed to flaunt her voluptuous but unattainable charms before other, lesser, men, seated as pathetic supplicants in the enveloping embrace of the low, oversized, couches in rugged dark leather that flanked the entry. To the immediate right of the buxom secretary was a large, unadorned, solid purpleheart door which obviously led to the inner sanctum.
There was something subtly disquieting about the entire room, though. The couches were so big, so low, and the seating surfaces were inclined so definitely to the rear, almost like seven foot wide beach lounges, that any normal-sized visitor would feel a little bit trapped and overwhelmed in either one.
Struggling, perhaps wheezing, up from the confines of one of these carefully contrived couches, stumbling across a deep shag carpet into the oversized room before the amused gaze of an attractive woman, was only the first of the successive minor humiliations which first daunted every intruding male into the outer reaches of Charles Leichter's private kingdom.
At the moment, Sarah Greene, the guardian of this secluded realm, had what seemed at first glance to be an humble petitioner kneeling before her with arm upraised. Looking closer, this person seemed to be pointing to something invisibly displayed on an conspicuously unobtrusive flat computer display screen arranged on the near corner of the desk in a manner which concealed the working surface from anyone except Sarah, the user, and the crouching woman beside her. This woman was Diana Morgan, and not, after all, a supplicant.
It was hard to tell, kneeling as she was, but she looked average in height, perhaps five six or maybe seven, and had slightly heavy, well-muscled shoulders for a woman. She was dark, with jet black hair and hazel eyes complementing a gamine face and well-defined jawline. One capable-looking hand was now resting on an open technical manual and she was just finishing a concise explanation of an obscure feature of the computer system this workstation was connected to, somewhere in the bowels of the building.
Her quiet gaze was confident as she knelt comfortably just to the side of Sarah's chair, looking back over her shoulder at the young secretary, who had been smiling and nodding and now started talking earnestly to her companion at about a mile a minute, and quite ignoring the display which scrolled unheeded on the screen before her.
"How do you suppose Dr. Leichter is getting along with his fish contest, Diana? He sure ran me ragged with picking up junk for his trip. Honestly, you'd think he was on safari through the Amazon jungle with all the stuff he made me get for him at that stinky fish store. It was worse than his awful cigars. And the way he leers at me when he thinks I'm not looking, you'd think I was the last woman on Earth and he was about to try and jump my bones or something. He makes me want to puke, you know? Every time he leans over my desk to show me something, he looks down the front of my dress, the jerk."
Sarah, a lovely woman in her early twenties, paused to take a breath and look up toward her computer screen and away from Diana, a systems analyst and consultant who'd been brought in to help install the new electronic mail system and had just shown her how to store messages into archival categories in between her lively bursts of conversation. "Is it done?"
"Charles Leichter always seems to get what he wants, Sarah. I'm sure he's doing just fine up there with his fish, and yes, it's done," Diana smiled as she spoke, glancing at the screen and then back across her shoulder at the young woman behind and beside her. Sarah always seemed a little overdressed to her and stunningly attractive. She could easily have been a model if her curves had been a little less pronounced. She had the height, about five eleven, maybe even six feet, and the aristocratic bearing to carry off any outfit with dignity and style. She would've looked great in a gunny sack and in her current outfit she looked like... trouble.
Diana was uncomfortably conscious of just how long it had been since she'd left her last relationship and a tiny bit jealous besides. Sarah was tall (Darn it!) and her features were fine and delicate, unlike her own vision of herself, too boyish to be really beautiful. If Diana went out without earrings and makeup on, people sometimes called her son. It annoyed her more than she ever let on.
Sarah's pale blue eyes were truly striking, especially when she flashed her perfect teeth in an unselfconscious grin, as she did just now. Today she had on a dress that wasn't quite a cocktail dress, but wouldn't have looked too much out of place at an evening reception either. It was a pretty thigh-high floral print with a deep scoop neck in shades of blue and red against a jet black background, cinched with a black leather belt that perfectly accentuated her narrow waist and willowy limbs. It looked expensive. She was wearing her typical trendy earrings and a matching necklace. They looked expensive too.
Her hands were impeccably manicured, half-inch nails polished to flawless brilliance with a bright red enamel which exactly matched the shade on her lips. When she touched her hand to her hair, like that, the color set off the lustrous masses of hair which tumbled carelessly down her back in exquisite perfection. Her makeup looked professionally done, using just the right amount of blusher and shadow to proclaim either an expensive training session in tasteful subtlety at a salon or a natural gift. Three inch black leather heels with a little rosette over an open toe completed the ensemble. Her toenails were perfectly pedicured and lacquered to complement the overall color scheme and tones, of course.
Maybe it was a job requirement. From what she'd seen and heard of Leichter, it seemed likely. In the five weeks she'd been working on this installation she'd discovered that she didn't like him at all. She'd finally had to tell him directly that she didn't appreciate "friendly" pats on the arm or back when he hadn't picked up on her irritated shrugs away from him. She tried to maintain a combination of professional distance and impersonal friendliness with all her clients without either alienating anyone or encouraging thoughts that she would prefer they kept to themselves, but Leichter tried her patience.
Her livelihood depended on her references but she'd almost decided that she could live without this one. From what she'd observed, he treated all women the same way — couldn't or wouldn't keep his hands off them if he had any excuse at all. The excuses were pretty thin; his line with her had been that he was 'just trying to be friendly,' a hoary chestnut she'd last heard from an obnoxiously drunken adolescent at her high school graduation party, a few too many years ago.
Unfortunately, a lot of her time had been spent in this very office, with Leichter lunging out from time to time 'to see how things were going,' since Sarah naturally had the task of actually knowing how to use the complex system that Charles Leichter had picked out. These entrances almost always startled her since his door was so massive that footsteps, or even voices, didn't penetrate the thick hardwood. Out he came like a jack-in-the-box from behind her back and the first she knew of it was when she felt his hand somewhere, followed closely by a hearty 'How's my girls?' She and Sarah had become friends, or almost friends, in spite, or perhaps because, of the discomfort they both felt around him. Shared adversity, she thought. Sarah was a quick study, and quite intelligent, even if she couldn't seem to say anything without rambling on forever.
"I just hate him, Diana. Everybody in the office knows that he's been boinking Elizabeth McKelsar, the Human Resources Director... and every other silly woman he can intimidate or flatter into the sack from what I've heard. His poor wife! I wonder if she knows? It's not as if he's that great a catch and all but, still, it must be hard on her. I wouldn't stay here at all except that he promised me I could move into the engineering section when I learn something about the business. That was my major, you know... chemistry, organic chemistry. I have a Master's degree in it, for all the good it's ever done me. We do a lot of work in the pharmaceutical industry, process engineering and quality control, stuff like that, so I could learn a lot here if I ever get the chance. I'm not even sure he meant it. Whenever I bring it up, he finds some way to change the subject."
She pushed herself away from her desk and stood up to get a file from the low horizontal file next to the wall, looked at it absently and then threw it back in the cabinet. She shut the drawer with an angry motion of her hip and then leaned back against the cabinet with her arms folded in front of her body. "And I heard that he fired that poor Marjorie something in accounting when she complained about him to McKelsar for grabbing her tits at the office party last Christmas. He claimed he just brushed against her 'by accident.' Oh, right! Like he thought they were doorknobs or something that just happened to be sitting on her chest. That creep! If he ever tries anything like that with me, I'll kill him. You just see if I don't." Sarah bared her teeth as she jutted out her jaw and wrung an imaginary neck with both hands to illustrate the supposed sincerity of this homicidal declaration.
"Well, I hope that won't be necessary, Sarah," Diana laughed at Sarah's elaborate burlesque as she slid into the chair Sarah had just vacated and swiveled around. "I know what you mean, though. I've had a few run-ins with him myself, and I'm an outside contractor. He must be hell to work for. But seriously, getting back to the dreary subject of E-mail, have you got a good handle on organizing these pesky messages into somewhat logical categories?"
"Too right! It's really nice of you to show me all this stuff, Diana. You've spent tons of time with me since you've been here. Nobody seems to have the time to explain things around this crummy outfit and the manual is like pizza you just found in back of the couch after last week's party. Ugh! Too stale and messy even for mice to nibble at! There's not even a decent index. I discovered the section on printing alphabetized under Selection, Queue Print, almost by accident except that I was reading through the silly thing line by line looking for it. I almost didn't recognize it when I saw it. It made a crazy kind of sense when I finally read the reference. Everything is a selection off one menu or another so naturally Queue Print is a Selection. Of course, nothing else is listed as a Selection but that must have been a 'technical oversight' on the part of those nutty technical writers. Once you're over that hurdle, it's simple to discover that when you print a file, you're really delivering it to a Print Queue. Queue Print, get it?" She shook her head in amused disbelief.
Diana inordinately admired the way her hair moved when she made this graceful motion. "Those cheeseballs from Data Processing aren't any better. They just look at you like you're a moron and tell you to read the manual. Thanks a lot, guys! I asked Dr. Leichter how to save a multi-part proposal I'd been working on but he just oozed over my shoulder and grabbed the keyboard and then punched some keys, smirked, and walked away saying it was all fixed and I could call on him any time. In his dreams! He didn't even manage to save my file which is what I'd asked him about in the first place. All he did was dump my whole afternoon's work into the bit bucket and clear my screen. I guess he meant fixed like you'd 'fix' a cat." She pantomimed snipping scissors with two fingers and grinned.
Diana laughed again. "That certainly sounds like him. I haven't had much luck explaining the system to him, mainly because he won't ever admit that he doesn't know how to use it already. And you're right of course, some of those manuals are pretty dismal and hard-to-understand. But if they weren't written by certified computer nerds and completely impossible for ordinary people like you and me to read, I'd be out of a job and we'd never have had the opportunity to dish Dr. Charles Leichter behind his back. Now aren't you glad?" She smiled broadly as Sarah smiled back at her and they both suddenly giggled.
"Is this a private joke? Or can we all join in?" A tall, trim, handsome man of about thirty or so had appeared in the doorway and walked over toward the desk. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a bold yellow tie that set off his ash blond hair and blue eyes very nicely, He smiled winningly as he almost, but not quite, lounged against the desk. "Hi, Sarah, Ms. Morgan." He waved a casual hand at them both. Sarah stood up straight. In her heels she looked him square in the eye.
"Oh! Hello, Mr. Wilsip. It was just girl talk, nothing important. Diana was just showing me how to store my E-mail in neat little buckets. Dr. Leichter isn't in today. He'll be back next week." The easy banter was gone now, replaced with a confused blend of friendly professionalism and traditional female subservience as she took on her office role. It was not an easy persona for her, Diana knew from past observation. She often slipped into a folksy sort of intimacy without realizing it.
"I know, Sarah. Remember? I was in to see him yesterday, just before he took off. No, I stopped by just to see you. And to ask you a big favor. Charlie said you had a number where he could be reached tomorrow after his expedition into the wilderness in search of the man-eating trout."
"That's right. I've got it right here." She walked back to her desk and rifled through her Rolodex. "It's an air service in Bishop where you can leave a message for him on his way back to civilization. He'll be flying back in either late today or early tomorrow. His contest only lasts one day so if you want to catch him you'll have to hurry and leave a message soon." She jotted the number down and handed it to him as he reached across her desk.
"You know how Dr. Leichter is. This whole trip is a whirlwind dash into the way outback to catch the biggest fish in the world and then right back here to make another million dollars. He never seems to slow down. Next week he's going to Saudi Arabia to talk with some oil prince or another about a pharmaceutical feedstock scheme he has worked out to... Oops." She bit her lip with a doubtful expression on her face. "I don't think I was supposed to say that."
"Don't worry about it, Sarah." Jeff waved his hand in casual dismissal. "I already know the grisly details and it's not something my company would really be interested in. You guys pretty well have the market sewed up in that one area. Charlie mentioned it when I was here the other day. He even promised to mention our name to his Arab Highness about a possible lead for some refinery work. I don't know how he does it. I wish I had his energy. He'll have to slow down someday or there won't be any work left for the rest of us."
"I know what you mean. It'd be great if he'd just take a real vacation sometime so the rest of us could take a break from this perpetual chaos and straighten up our offices. It's really insane around here when he starts off on one of his projects. Everybody has to work like crazy and the paperwork piles up until I have to just shovel it into closets. Last time he had one of those little parties, he didn't let anybody go home until two o'clock in the morning."
"Well, if you ever get tired of the madcap pace around here, you can come over to my little corporate backwater and idle away the time painting your nails and occasionally answering my phone, when anyone bothers to call." He winked and then turned toward the door but called back as he left, grinning, "That lascivious slave-driver doesn't deserve a fine young woman like you. I'm surprised you put up with him."
"So long, Mr. Wilsip, and thanks for the offer. I just might take you up on it someday." Sarah smiled as she turned back to Diana. "I don't know how that Leichter could ever keep such a good-natured friend. Jeff Wilsip is as nice a guy as they come. I talked with him and his wife at our company picnic a few months ago. She was so charming and nice and he's just goofy over her. He hardly left her side the whole day. Dr. Leichter came by and said he should get over to where the engineers were standing so he could steal some talent for his own sorry excuse of a company. He's such a jerk. Jeff just laughed and said the best talent in the world was standing right next to him. Isn't that sweet and romantic?"
"He certainly seems like a nice man. His company does process engineering too, doesn't it?" Diana was interested in the answer to this question. "Looking for your next client? Or just looking?" Sarah laughed.
"Oh, I don't know. He's kind of cute, if you like tall, dark, and handsome men. But he is married... and I'm always looking for my next client." Diana smiled broadly.
"Well then, as long as you're not planning to steal him away from that adorable wife of his, they do pretty much what we do here, only we specialize in the pharmaceutical industry and they do a little bit of everything. Jeff's only the engineering V.P. but everyone says he's a rising star. He's really smart. I guess they don't actually compete with each other much though. They seem very friendly. Jeff's always stopping by and schmoozing with Dr. Leichter. I think they were in the service together years ago. They golf on the weekends and do lunch every once in a while... Hey! Speaking of lunch, would you like to go out to that nice little French place out by the freeway we tried last week? I'm starving! We can go dutch and you can tell me where you got that great outfit? I love the way the collar drapes on your blouse. It's raw silk, isn't it? I've never seen you wear it before."
"Sure. I'd love to. And yes, it is silk. It's from Jones of New York but I got it on sale last weekend up in the LA garment district so it didn't cost too much. The slacks are just some old Liz Claiborne separates. They're rayon but I thought the light tan color was good with this creamy white."
"They're just perfect. You always seem so nicely put together and understated, you know? I get nasty comments from you-know-who about when I'm planning on joining the Marines if I try and dress down. That necklace is lovely, too. Is it old?"
"It's a little old fashioned, isn't it? It was my great-grandmother's on the Daniels side of the family. There's a cameo pendant that went with it that I had made into a pin but I don't wear much in the way of jewelry any more except earrings. I got these little twisted knot earrings to sort of match the twisted rope style of the chain and they just looked right with the blouse."
"They're really beautiful with your dark hair. I'm afraid to try the short look myself. I think I'd get more kvetching from the fashion doctor back there." She rolled her eyes archly over toward Charles Leichter's office door. "All the girls in the front office here have to dress like they're trying out for the part of floozy-of-the-month and old Leichter sure lets you know pretty darned quick if you don't show a little bit of hooter when you lean over. Honestly! But don't get me started! I'm hungry and feel like taking a two-hour Friday lunch. Maybe three! You want to come? Let's do the little French place over towards the college. Please! They have a chocolate mousse that's to die for. They might be really crowded so we may not get back for ages." She folded her hands demurely in front of her breasts and looked the perfect picture of wide-eyed innocence.
Diana recognized the look. She'd felt it on her own face once or twice too often to be fooled by it long. She smiled. "While the cat's away? Sure. I'd like that a lot. I've billed AXSys Engineering quite enough for today, anyway. Do you want to drive? Or shall we walk over? It's only half a mile or so and it's a nice day outside."
"Let's walk. That way I won't feel guilty about the mousse. I've got my Reeboks here in my bottom drawer." Sarah opened the drawer and her face fell slightly. "That's funny. I must have taken them home. I'm such an idiot. And these pumps aren't exactly great for hiking. Do you mind driving after all? We could take my little blue Fiat but she's really a mess. And her air conditioner doesn't work very well." Sarah spoke hopefully, transparently hinting that Diana's brand new white Acura Legend LS had none of these faults and had a lot more room besides. Not to mention the CD player.
Diana smiled in tacit collusion with Sarah's unspoken preference. "Not at all! It's kind of hot anyway. And do let's take my car. We wouldn't want to show up at a fancy restaurant all wilted. Just let me pick up my purse on the way out."
Sarah smiled, as if in anticipation of a really perfect day. "Tell you what. Let's meet out by the ladies' room. I ought to stop off and freshen up, as the saying goes, by which I mean pee but am too ladylike to say." She smiled more broadly.
Diana grinned back. Sarah was refreshingly ingenuous and had a vivacious, and infectious, good humor. "It's a date. I'll walk you part way."
"Wait up." She was reaching into her desk drawer for her purse just as the phone rang.
"Hang on a minute, could you? I forgot to forward it so I'm stuck with this call," Sarah said as she put her purse on the desk and picked up the phone, "Dr. Leichter's office. May I help you?" Her face blanched as she listened. "Oh my god, no!" she said. "Of course, I'll be available here all this afternoon," she nodded. "Is there anything I should do? Should I call somebody?" She nodded again, stricken. "OK. I'll be right here."
"That was an agent for the Bureau of Land Management, up in Bishop," Sarah said, looking up at Diana, stricken. Sudden tears were starting to flow quietly down her face as she whispered, "Dr. Leichter is dead."
Copyright © 1999 by Lee Anne Phillips
All Rights Reserved Worldwide
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