Chapter 2

as cardigan settled into his dodge, the sweet tones of "the eyes of texas" rang out from his shirt pocket. he flipped open his phone and muttered, "cardigan."

"hello, mr. cardigan. my name is sierra charles. i'm returning your call from yesterday. how may i help you?"

the woman's voice was rich, slightly breathy. she had the kind of voice that was almost familiar, as if he'd only heard it in a recurring dream, not the waking world. he paused, hoping she would continue, then shook himself back to the present when she hesitantly asked, "mr. cardigan? are you there?"

"sorry about that," he responded hurriedly. "yes, ms. charles, thank you for calling me back. i'm a private investigator and i'd like to talk to you about a mr. james livermore. could we meet somewhere?"

"james? i see....sure, i can meet you, mr. cardigan." she sounded as if she dealt with this sort of thing every day. "how about 2 o'clock at Othello's, that coffee shop near the university?"

"that works for me. i'll see you there, ms. charles, and thanks." he ended the call and drummed his finngers on the steering wheel, wondering how to fill the next 3 hours before the interview at Othello's. the rumble in his stomach answered the question for him: lunch.