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routine questions.   I just need to know where we stand at the moment.   Has he mentioned anything about problems at work or with his health?"
          Angie furrowed her brow.   "Strange you'd ask.   Last week, he mentioned there were problems at work."   She glanced up at the ceiling.   "But with Ken's girls hurt in that school bus wreck and all, we never had the chance to discuss it.   But talk to Ken, he might know."
          "I'll do that."   He picked up his glass and stared at the melting ice cubes.   Her answers puzzled him.   He'd always thought she and Bud were so close, yet she seemed to know so little about the company.   And he didn't know how to put her fears to rest.   Taking a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket, he wrote a number on the back and stood, handing it to her.   "You can't always reach me at home or the office, but that's my cell phone number.   It's always with me.   If you haven't heard from Bud by morning, call me and I'll start checking."
          Reaching for the card, she looked up at him, her eyes pleading for some assurance.
          He solemnly shook his head.   "Your guess is as good as mine, Angie.   I don't know what to tell you."   He rubbed the stubble on his chin and headed for the front door.   Angie followed.   Before he stepped out on the porch, he gently grasped her shoulder.   "Hang in there.   I'll keep in touch."
          He winced at the sight of her pinched face and hastened down the steps, but before climbing into his car, he glanced back toward the house.   Angie's silhouette, outlined by the foyer light shining through the door, appeared to be frozen to the spot.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
          Tom's eyes flew open when the loud jingle jarred him awake.   He kept the phone on the far side of the room so he'd have to get up to answer it.   But last night, he'd placed his cell phone on the bedside table just in case Angie might call.   Half awake, he fumbled with it until he realized the constant ringing came from the other one.   He groaned, yanked off the covers and rolled out of bed.   "Coming, coming."
          "Yeah, Tom Hoffman here."   After a few moments of listening, he frowned.   "I'll be right there."
          He threw on some clothes, grabbed his jacket off the chair and charged out of the house.   The sun's rays were just beginning to peek over the surrounding hills.   He drove fast and knew he didn't have far to go when the odor of metallic smoke and burnt flesh scorched his nostrils.
          Parking behind one of the fire trucks, he leapt out of the car and dashed around the large yellow vehicle, but came to a sudden halt behind the yellow tape separating the street from the accident scene.   Glaring spotlights lit the area like daylight.   He blinked and stared at the rear end of a charred Porsche.   It appeared that the car had missed the sharp turn and careened over the embankment, hitting a huge oak tree head-on.   The exploding gas tank had ravaged anyone or anything inside the car.   He stepped over the tape and walked slowly toward the wreckage.   The two technicians glanced up momentarily from their meticulous work, removing what remained.
          His eyes watered from the lingering smoke, but he managed to write down as much of the curled license plate as he could make out.   After tucking his notebook back into his pocket, he walked back up to the road and studied the surrounding terrain.   Odd there weren't any skid marks.   He glanced back at the Porsche and made a mental note of its position.   The fumes made breathing painful as he stumbled back over the rough ground toward his own car.
          He gripped the steering wheel and muttered.   "Get hold of yourself.   Just because that car is a Porsche, doesn't mean it's Bud's."
          Not wanting