Assumed Identity

4

The muffled ringing of a phone wakened him. Buchanan became alert immediately, and that encouraged him. His survival instincts were still functioning. He glanced from the bed toward the end table, didn’t see a phone, then gazed toward the closed door of the guest room, beyond which he again heard the phone, its ring muted by distance, presumably down the hall in the kitchen. He heard a murky voice, female, Cindy’s. Then he heard Jack. The conversation was brief. The house became silent again.

Buchanan glanced at his watch, surprised that it showed half-past noon, that what had felt like a fifteen-minute nap had lasted almost two hours. The doctor had warned him about sleeping more than usual. Past noon? He frowned. Lunch should be ready by now, and he wondered why Cindy or Jack hadn’t roused him. He stretched his arms, testing the stiffness in his shoulder where his wound had been restitched, then put on his shoes and stood from the bed.

He heard a soft rap on the door.

“Vic?” Cindy whispered.

“It’s all right. I’m up.” Buchanan opened the door.

“Lunch is ready.” She smiled engagingly.

Buchanan noticed that she’d removed her flour-dusted apron but still wore the red-and-black-checkered handkerchief on her head. Her hair must need fixing and she didn’t have time, he thought as he followed her along the sunny hallway into the kitchen.

“The pie’s for supper. We don’t eat big meals at lunch,” she explained. “Jack’s a fanatic about his cholesterol. I hope you like simple food.”

A steaming bowl of vegetable soup had been set at each place, along with a tuna sandwich flanked by a plate of sliced celery, carrots, cauliflower, and tomatoes.

“The bread’s whole wheat,” she added, “but I can give you white if you. .”

“No, whole wheat’s fine,” Buchanan said, and noticed that Doyle, who was already sitting at the table, seemed preoccupied by the tip of his fork.

“Did you have a good nap?” Cindy asked.

“Fine,” Buchanan said, and took a chair only after she did, waiting until she dipped her spoon into the soup before he started to eat. “Delicious.”

“Try the raw cauliflower.” Cindy pointed. “It’s supposed to help purify your system.”

“Well, mine could definitely stand some purifying,” Buchanan joked, and wondered why Doyle hadn’t spoken or eaten yet. Obviously, something was bothering him. Buchanan decided to prompt him. “I bet I’d still be asleep if I hadn’t heard the phone.”

“Oh, I was afraid that might have happened,” Cindy said.

“Yeah.” Doyle finally spoke. “You know how I’ve got the office phone rigged so if someone calls there and we’re out, the call is relayed to here?”

Buchanan nodded, as if that information was obvious to him, trying to maintain the fiction in front of Cindy that he’d worked for her husband these past three months.

“Well, that was someone calling the office to talk to you,” Doyle said. “A man. I told him you wouldn’t be available for a while. He said he’d call back.”

Buchanan tried hard not to show his concern. “It was probably someone I did a job for. Maybe he’s got questions about a piece of equipment I installed. Did he leave his name?”

Doyle somberly shook his head.

“Then it mustn’t have been very important.” Buchanan tried to sound casual.

“That’s what I thought,” Doyle said. “By the way, after lunch I ought to go down to the office. I need to check on a couple of things. If you’re feeling all right, you want to keep me company?”

“Jack, he’s supposed to be resting, not working,” Cindy said.

Buchanan chewed and swallowed. “Not to worry. Sure. My nap did a world of good. I’ll drive along with you.”

“Great.” Doyle finally started to eat, then paused, frowning toward Cindy. “You’ll be all right while we’re gone?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Cindy’s smile was forced.

“The soup’s excellent,” Doyle said.

“So glad you like it.” Cindy’s smile became even more forced.