He started whistling again. This time Marge recognized the tune—the refrain of “Stayin’ Alive.” His mouth pucking sounds came out as sharp, shrill stabs. Over and over and over and over.

After five minutes, Marge said, “Can you cool it with the bird songs?”

Oliver quit whistling. “What?”

“You sound like an avian mating call. I half-expect some mesmerized, horny robin to fly into the car and start showing you her tail feathers.”

“Dunn, you talk that way, you get me hot—”

“I don’t believe you, Oliver. You’re doing it again.”

“Lady, you started it, talking about horny robins and tail feathers. What’s an old goat to think?”

Marge was about to speak, but laughed instead. She did kind of set him up. Besides, she got her point across. No sense belaboring it.

The industrial park was blocks long, set on acres of rolling, manicured lawn that sported a variety of specimen willows and elms. The commercial buildings ranged in size, but each was fashioned from brick and landscaped with shocking pink impatiens, pastel pink azaleas, and emerald ferns, giving the development uniformity. In the middle of the complex was a rock waterfall that emptied into a pond complete with goldfish and koi.

Fisher/Tyne’s entry faced the waterscape. It was a two-storied structure with double doors. The lobby was masoned with white marble, the furniture sleek—suede couches, glass tables and chrome lamps. Oversized unframed canvases hung on the walls, the artwork being modern and stark. A couple of trim, blond, blue-eyed receptionists wearing headsets sat behind a glass window. Marge glanced at her partner, wondering if Oliver would be distracted by the view. His eyes revealed nothing.

He took out ID and showed it to one of the cuties in the see-through cage. “We’re here to see Dr. Gordon Shockley.”

The cutie stared at the ID, spoke into a mike. “It’s about Dr. Sparks, right?”

Oliver pocketed his badge. “Is Dr. Shockley in, ma’am?”

“I’ll check.” She punched a couple of buttons, spoke into the headset that encircled her face. To Oliver, she said, “He’ll be down in just a few minutes. Would you like some coffee?”

Oliver turned to Marge.

“Pass.”

“Maybe later,” Oliver said.

“Just have a seat, then.”

Marge parked herself on the sofa. It had all the give of a park bench. Oliver sat next to her. The lobby held several windows that looked out to the pond.

Marge said, “Nice view.”

“Plastic.” Oliver lowered his voice. “Or do you mean the ones in the cage.”

“Talk about plastic.”

He grinned. “Polymers have their place, Dunn.”

“Polymers is right,” she whispered. “All of them made out of the same mold—”

“Hey, you get a winner, stick with it.”

Marge turned to him. “Are you talking for my benefit only or are you really this shallow?”

“No, I’m really this shallow, Dunn. Get used to it.”