“I have some money set aside. I thought I’d write a check for one day’s work and we’d see how it goes from there.”

“A check?”

A flush tinted his cheeks. “I guess that’s not such a hot idea.”

“You got that right. What’s plan B?”

“If you’re going to be here for a while, I could make a quick run to the bank and bring you cash.”

I considered the notion. The prime item on my Thursday To Do list was to make a bank deposit and pay bills. I had two reports to write and a few calls to make, but I could shift those to Friday. The job itself might end in folly, but at least when he mentioned “the right thing to do,” he didn’t turn around and ask me to work for free. I wasn’t convinced he was right about what he’d seen, but Cheney must have considered the story credible or he wouldn’t have sent him over to me.

“Okay. One day, but that’s it. And only if you pay me cash in advance. I’ll be here until five o’clock. That should give you plenty of time.”

“Great. That’s great.”

“I don’t know how great it is, but it’s the best I can do. When you get back, if I happen to be out, you can stick the money through the mail slot. In the meantime, give me a contact number so I’ll know how to reach you.”

I handed him my yellow pad and watched while he scribbled down his address and telephone number. In return I handed him my business card with my office number and address.

He said, “I really appreciate this. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t agreed.”

“I’ll probably regret it, but what the hell? It’s only one day,” I said. If I’d been listening closely, I’d have caught the sound of the gods having a great big old tee-hee at my expense.

I said, “You’re sure you don’t want to make the trip up to Climp? It would save you a few bucks.”

“I don’t want to. They probably wouldn’t talk to me in any event.”

“I see.” I studied him. “You want to tell me what’s going on here? You can’t talk to your siblings and now you can’t talk to your prep school pals?”

“I already told you I didn’t have pals. It has more to do with the administration.”

“How come?”

“There were some difficulties. I had a problem.”

“Like what, you were expelled?” I love stories about flunking and expulsions. With my history of screwups, those are like fairy tales.

“It’s not something I want to get into. It has nothing to do with this.” A stubborn note had crept into his voice. “You go up there. They’ll let you see yearbooks as easily as me.”

“I doubt it. Educational institutions hate handing over information about their students. Especially with the words ‘private investigator’ thrown into the mix.”

“Don’t tell ’em you’re a PI. Think of something else.”