details of Ray's life. He plans to go to Stanford the next fall and study physics and art— an odd double major he is quick to admit. The tuition at Stanford worries him; he doesn't know if his father can afford it. He should be worried, I think. He is a fan of modern quantum mechanics and abstract art. He works after school at a supermarket. He does not talk about Pat, and I don't bring her up. But I do steer the conversation back to his father.
"It is getting late," I say. "Are you sure you don't want to call your father and tell him that you've been sitting naked in a Jacuzzi with a beautiful blond?"
"To tell you the truth, I don't think my dad's home."
"He has a girlfriend of his own?"
"No, he's been out of town the last few days, working on a case."
"What kind of case?"
"I don't know what it is, he hasn't told me. Except that it's big and he hopes to make a lot of money on it. He's been working on it for a while now." Ray adds, "But I'm getting worried about him. He often leaves for days at a time, but he's never gone so long without calling."
"Do you have an answering machine at home?"
"Yes."
"And he hasn't even left you a message?"
"No."
"How long has he been out of touch?"
"Three days. I know that doesn't sound long, but I swear, he calls me every day."
I nod sympathetically, "I would be worried if I were you. Does he have an office in town?"
"Yes. On Tudor, not far from the ocean."
"Have you been by his office?"
"I've called his secretary, but she hasn't heard from him, either."
"That is ridiculous, Ray. You should call the police and report him missing."
Ray waves his hand. "You don't know my dad. I could never do that. He would be furious. No, I'm sure he just got wrapped up in his work, and he'll call me when he gets a chance." He pauses. "I hope."
"I have an idea," I say as if it just occurred to me. "Why don't you go down to his office and check his files to see what this big case is. You'd probably be able to find out where he is."
"He wouldn't like me looking through his files."
I shrug. "It's up to you. But if it were my father, I would want to know where he was."
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"His files are all on computer. I'd have to go into his whole system, and there would be a notation left that I had done so. He has it set up that way."
"Can you get into his files? I mean, do you know the password?"
He hesitates. "How did you know he has it set up that a password is required?"
There is a note of suspicion in his question, and once more I marvel at Ray's perceptive abilities. But I do not marvel long because I have waited for this very moment since I killed his father two days ago, and I have no intention of upsetting my plan.
"I didn't," I say. "But it is a common way to protect files."
He appears satisfied. "Yeah, I can get into his files. The password is a nickname he had for me when I was a kid."
I do not need to ask him what it is, which may only increase his suspicion. Instead I jump to my feet. "Come on, let's go to his office right now. You'll sleep better knowing what he's up to."
He is startled. "Right now?"
"Well, you don't want to go looking at his files when his secretary's there. Now is the perfect time. I'll come with you."
"But it's late." He yawns. "I'm tired. I was thinking I should go home. Maybe he'll be there."
"That's an idea. Check to see if he's at home first. But if he's not, and he hasn't left you a message, then you should go to the office."
"Why are you so worried about my father?"
I stop suddenly, as if his question wounds me. "Do you have to ask?" I am referring to the comment I made about my own poor dead father and feel no shame using him that way.
Ray looks suitably embarrassed. He sets down his glass of wine and gets up from the floor.
"Sorry. You may be right," he says. "I'll sleep better knowing what's going on. But if you come with me, then I'll have to bring you
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