person I could call from anywhere on the planet and get help.
Wade never acted surprised to hear from me and enjoyed exhibiting no reaction
to what I told him, even if it sounded outlandish.
"You're
in a cabin? Did you get kicked out of your rental house? I want to talk to
Callie," he rambled on, filling all the dead air space.
"Listen
to me, Wade, I need—"
"Nope,
I talk to the blonde or I talk to no one." He'd first met Callie on the
Anthony murder case and had liked her then. Now he enjoyed pretending he was
closer to her than me, to tick me off.
I
handed the phone to Callie, and her sweet voice took on an even more playful
tone when she spoke to him. She said everything was fine with us and that I was
writing a script and she was visiting friends.
"She is a little difficult," Callie said, tossing me a smile to let me
know I was the one being referenced.
"I'm
not the one who wants to dig up a dead body," I shouted loud enough for
Wade to hear. There was apparently a response on his part, and Callie confirmed
my statement and then, grinning, thrust the phone into my hand.
"Tell
me she's kidding," Wade said.
"Dead
people: she sees them, she talks to them, she digs them up."
"Any
particular reason, Boris, or are you both just bored?" Wade said.
"Yeah,
'cause the body's not there," I said flatly.
"And
the body that's not there, did the family think it was there when they told it
good-bye?" Not waiting for my answer, he gave me an exasperated follow-up.
"Why would the body not be there?"
'"Cause
the woman's not dead."
"And
we know that because..." Wade dragged out the words.
"Because...we...do."
I grinned at Callie, aware my devotion to her had me not only accepting cosmic
craziness but also looking like a nutcase in front of my police buddy. Wade let
out a big snort, the kind that always preceded a rude remark, so I stopped him
in his derisive tracks.
"If
you've got no pull in the human-excavation department, say so and can the
comments," I ordered brusquely.
"Hey,
Captain Marvel, I was about to say you're going to need someone in that part of
the world who can run interference with the local government officials, or the
Indians, and fill out the paperwork, and it might even take—hey, was she
murdered, because that's a—"
"Attacked
by wolves."
"Where
the hell are you?" Wade's voice rose two octaves.
"Sedona."
"That's
right, because I talked to your mom and she said she's brokenhearted you didn't
invite her there for Thanksgiving—"
"Okay,
cut it out," I said in response to his teasing.
"She
said you called her the other night to complain about having to write dirty
scenes in a movie, is that true? Are you writing a porno movie?"
"Jeez,
Wade, why do you call my mother and have these little talks? Is it to torture
me? You know she gets every conversation upside down, and you egg her on. I
told her the director I worked for wanted—never mind, I got bigger fish to fry
here."
"Okay,
okay, I'm making notes. Need contact for digging up Native American woman we
don't believe is dead. When in doubt, dig 'em out. You're gonna need an
attorney, as much as I hate to say that word. Somebody who can do business in
Arizona and knows people. Come to think of it, I might know someone who has a
cabin in Sedona and could even be out there for the holidays. I'll check it out
and get back to you."
"You're
great—once you get to the damned point." I hung up before the snorting
began.
The
phone rang in the middle of the night, and as I grabbed it I thought it might
be Wade. Despite the electronic breakup, I could make out Jeremy Jacowitz's
voice. Apologizing profusely, he said he was overseas and could never figure
out what time it was. A famous director should get a clock that tells him,
or a secretary who tells him, I thought but remained politically correct,
saying only, "No problem."
"Barrett
forwarded your rewrite of the opening scene, the therapist and the hooker, and
I think it's brilliantly done.
Wade never acted surprised to hear from me and enjoyed exhibiting no reaction
to what I told him, even if it sounded outlandish.
"You're
in a cabin? Did you get kicked out of your rental house? I want to talk to
Callie," he rambled on, filling all the dead air space.
"Listen
to me, Wade, I need—"
"Nope,
I talk to the blonde or I talk to no one." He'd first met Callie on the
Anthony murder case and had liked her then. Now he enjoyed pretending he was
closer to her than me, to tick me off.
I
handed the phone to Callie, and her sweet voice took on an even more playful
tone when she spoke to him. She said everything was fine with us and that I was
writing a script and she was visiting friends.
"She is a little difficult," Callie said, tossing me a smile to let me
know I was the one being referenced.
"I'm
not the one who wants to dig up a dead body," I shouted loud enough for
Wade to hear. There was apparently a response on his part, and Callie confirmed
my statement and then, grinning, thrust the phone into my hand.
"Tell
me she's kidding," Wade said.
"Dead
people: she sees them, she talks to them, she digs them up."
"Any
particular reason, Boris, or are you both just bored?" Wade said.
"Yeah,
'cause the body's not there," I said flatly.
"And
the body that's not there, did the family think it was there when they told it
good-bye?" Not waiting for my answer, he gave me an exasperated follow-up.
"Why would the body not be there?"
'"Cause
the woman's not dead."
"And
we know that because..." Wade dragged out the words.
"Because...we...do."
I grinned at Callie, aware my devotion to her had me not only accepting cosmic
craziness but also looking like a nutcase in front of my police buddy. Wade let
out a big snort, the kind that always preceded a rude remark, so I stopped him
in his derisive tracks.
"If
you've got no pull in the human-excavation department, say so and can the
comments," I ordered brusquely.
"Hey,
Captain Marvel, I was about to say you're going to need someone in that part of
the world who can run interference with the local government officials, or the
Indians, and fill out the paperwork, and it might even take—hey, was she
murdered, because that's a—"
"Attacked
by wolves."
"Where
the hell are you?" Wade's voice rose two octaves.
"Sedona."
"That's
right, because I talked to your mom and she said she's brokenhearted you didn't
invite her there for Thanksgiving—"
"Okay,
cut it out," I said in response to his teasing.
"She
said you called her the other night to complain about having to write dirty
scenes in a movie, is that true? Are you writing a porno movie?"
"Jeez,
Wade, why do you call my mother and have these little talks? Is it to torture
me? You know she gets every conversation upside down, and you egg her on. I
told her the director I worked for wanted—never mind, I got bigger fish to fry
here."
"Okay,
okay, I'm making notes. Need contact for digging up Native American woman we
don't believe is dead. When in doubt, dig 'em out. You're gonna need an
attorney, as much as I hate to say that word. Somebody who can do business in
Arizona and knows people. Come to think of it, I might know someone who has a
cabin in Sedona and could even be out there for the holidays. I'll check it out
and get back to you."
"You're
great—once you get to the damned point." I hung up before the snorting
began.
The
phone rang in the middle of the night, and as I grabbed it I thought it might
be Wade. Despite the electronic breakup, I could make out Jeremy Jacowitz's
voice. Apologizing profusely, he said he was overseas and could never figure
out what time it was. A famous director should get a clock that tells him,
or a secretary who tells him, I thought but remained politically correct,
saying only, "No problem."
"Barrett
forwarded your rewrite of the opening scene, the therapist and the hooker, and
I think it's brilliantly done.
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