“Should we stop for dinner and a drink?” I asked.
“Not a bad idea. Just one drink, though. I do have to drive home at some point.”
“I’ll have to drive you back to get your car, too, so yes, just one,” I agreed. “Mind if I put the top down? Your hair won’t blow too much.”
She looked up. “It’s metal, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.” I pressed the button that began the transformation.
“Oh, my father would love this thing! He’s such a car nut!” she said, in the most animated voice I had heard all day.
“This is the ‘play’ part of that all-work-and-no-play thing I mentioned.” I eased the sleek roadster into traffic, and soon we were on the highway.
“Where are you staying?” she asked, wisps of her honey locks dancing in the breeze.
“There,” I said, pointing to a sign advertising my hotel.
“Do they serve food in their bar?”
“Sandwiches and salads. We can sit and talk.”
“Sounds good,” she said.
I parked the car, and we walked into the hotel lounge. The place was almost deserted, and the music was quiet enough for conversation. We found a small table, got our menus, and placed our order.
“I just had an alarming thought,” Sarah said, after the waitress brought our drinks.
“Oh?”
“Yes. What is a nice housewife like me doing here with another man?”
“Is that what this is, in your mind?” I asked. “To me, it’s business associates grabbing dinner, unwinding and having a strategy session.”
“It is, of course,” she said, “but how does it look?”
“Who cares? People do this all the time. You’re putting yourself in the exact niche that brought on your little show in your office this morning. You know that, don’t you?”
She sighed, looking down at the table. Then she raised her eyes to mine. “You’re right. I try so hard to be one of the guys in the office or when I’m out in the field, but sometimes I just can’t do it.”
“Why can’t you be Sarah Blevins?”
“I don’t know,” she said, almost to herself. She sipped her drink in silence.
I asked, “What are your overall thoughts on what we saw today? You mentioned your bullshit sense as soon as we walked in there, and you seemed like you were onto some stuff right away.”
“You painted a pretty accurate picture of what to expect, although you failed to mention what a smarmy little creep Owens is.”
“We’re going to bring him down if there’s anything at all wrong,” I said. “We’re playing detective here.”
“You make this sound so clandestine,” she grinned.
“Only in my Walter Mitty fantasies. Seriously, though, do you agree that there is something funny about those books?”
“I have some questions,” she said. “A lot of them, in fact.”
“Good. Now, off business for a minute. Who is Sarah Blevins? What makes you tick?”
“Honestly? Well, there’s Sarah, the hard-working forensic accountant. That’s who you saw today. There’s Sarah, the wife and mother. I can bore you to tears with stories about potty training and parent-teacher conferences. I can tell you how to get grass stains out of little league uniforms and bubble gum out of long hair, and at least five great salsa recipes.”
The waitress brought our dinners. When she was gone, I asked, “What about Sarah, the person?”
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