“It’ll take days before this really begins to sink in,” the son was saying now, still staring at the check in wonder and grinning from ear to ear.

“Whom can we thank for this money?” the mother asked. “I know a little about the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation, but is there someone in particular…” She let her voice trail off, looking to me for information.

I smiled, clicked my briefcase shut, and stood.

“The best way you can say thank you is to take that money and use it to further your mission as outlined in your grant proposal. The foundation believes strongly in what you’re trying to accomplish, and we just wanted to have a small part in furthering your efforts.”

It was a speech I had made many times before, but it still never failed to bring a small lump into my throat. There were so many unsung heroes out in the world, people who had decided to dedicate their lives to helping others. The fact that I got to be the bearer of such good news was the very best part of what I did for a living.

I caught the next flight back to Washington, DC, reading a magazine most of the way, closing it finally as we crossed over the Ohio River. I leaned back and looked out of the window, marveling at the gorgeous streaks of purple and orange that accompanied the sunset.

I was tired. Actually, I was exhausted. This was the fifth case I’d worked in a row without a break. Now I was ready to take a few days off, putter around the house, and catch up on things that needed doing there.

The seat in front of mine held a telephone in its back, and when the man sitting next to me headed to the restroom I took the opportunity to pull out the phone and dial. My boss liked to hear from me as soon as possible after a delivery; he would be expecting my call.

The connection was surprisingly good. I had dialed Tom’s private line, the one I was supposed to use in case of emergency or at prearranged times. He answered on the second ring, his voice sounding deep and resonant as usual.

“Callie?” he answered.

“It’s me,” I said, feeling a smile creep into my voice. Though Tom and I had never met in person, we always had a certain rapport over the phone. I had an image of what I thought he looked like, though that image had evolved and shifted over time. All I knew for certain was that he was in his early 30s, like me, and that he had made his fortune in the computer industry. Otherwise, I did not use my investigative skills toward him. It was enough for me that he was my employer, that he valued his privacy above all else, and that he was a good man with a generous heart and very, very deep pockets.

“Callie, Callie, Callie,” he said now, and I could hear the click of a computer in the background. “You traded in your first-class ticket for coach again.”