“Then I’ll just have to come at it from a different direction. You got a pretty small work crew here for such a big management staff, don’t you?”

Chamfers and the benefits guy exchanged a look—guarded, wary—I couldn’t quite make it out. Then Chamfers said, “And you keep wanting me to believe you’re not scoping us out for someone. Who you really working for, Nancy Drew?”

I stood up and looked at him solemnly. “Lockheed, sonny, but keep it to yourself.”

Chamfers once again stayed at my elbow while we made the long hike around to the front. Before we parted I said, “You want me to tell the guy tailing me where I left my car?”

His face shifted momentarily beneath its frown. He was surprised. At the news I had spotted my tail? Or at the news I had one? Pondering that little conundrum I forgot to wave good-bye.

I walked down the road to where the tall grass cut off his view from the side of the building. Once there I hunkered down to wait. It was just about twelve. Maybe Chamfers brought a sandwich, but I was willing to bet he headed over to the little block of Italian restaurants four streets over. I pegged him for the late-model Nissan as well.

The grass hid me from the road, but it didn’t protect me from the sun. It was also a favorite hangout for flies and bees. I was so hot and sweaty after a while that I stopped trying to brush them away when they landed on my arms. At one point I got a rather nasty fly bite. Finally, a few minutes before one, the Nissan drove past me with the flare of gravel I expected from Chamfers.

Staying in the grass along the verge I walked back to the plant. Another car was heading my way from the asphalt square; the maroon Honda, with the benefits manager at the wheel. I waited a few more minutes, but that seemed to be their output from the first shift.

I went back inside, to the door behind the stairwell, and reentered the machine assembly room. By now I figured I looked like someone who’d been doing roadwork on a chain gang all morning. The tops of the high windows had been pulled out on their hinges to let in some air, but it was still cooler in here than it was outside. The women in their tank tops or T-shirts and work pants didn’t look particularly ruffled.

A half dozen were sitting near the door, eating sandwiches and talking softly in Spanish. The others stood alone or in pairs under the windows, looking vacantly at nothing, or talking desultorily. A couple in a far corner were having an intense interchange. This time they all saw me, all but the pair in the far corner, and conversation stopped.

“I’m looking for the foreman,” I said.