Free McNally's Trial by Lawrence Sanders

she repeated. “No, I’ve never heard of him.”
    “He’s from Miami and he’s in the import-export business, whatever that may be. Seemed an odd sort to be a close friend of the CEO of funeral homes.”
    “Mitzi and Oliver have several odd friends,” she said tartly. “Let me get you another beer.”
    “Just one more,” I said, “and then I’ll be on my way.”
    She made no reply—which I took for approval. And which only proves how fallible my judgment can be.
    She brought my refill, then touched a cushion of the couch on which she was seated. “Sit over here, Archy,” she said, and I noted how often her requests sounded like commands. “I have something to tell you, and it will be easier to talk if we don’t have so much space between us.”
    I did as she asked. She had taken off her jacket and kicked away her satin pumps. She looked more relaxed than she had seemed at the party. Her tensity had thawed and her rather schoolmarmish manner vanished. She had softened; that’s all I can say. Except that the two top buttons of her poet shirt were undone.
    “The last time we spoke about the computer printout,” she said, “I told you I could not understand why it did not include the names and addresses of out-of-state funeral homes and cemeteries to which Whitcomb’s shipments were made. It was strange; that information is routinely entered on our computer.”
    “But it wasn’t,” I said.
    She turned sideways to look at me directly. “It was, Archy, but it had been erased.”
    I took a gulp of beer. “You’re certain?”
    “No doubt about it. I caught it and then called in our computer consultant to verify what I had discovered. He agreed: someone had simply deleted that information from our records.”
    “Could anyone at Whitcomb’s have done it?”
    “You need to know a code to access our system. The code is known only by the top three executives—Horace, Oliver, and myself—and by the four department heads and our three chief funeral directors.”
    “Could a malicious hacker have invaded the system?”
    “Of course. That’s always a possibility and very difficult if not impossible to prevent. But why would a hacker want to delete only those specific items of information?”
    “Haven’t the slightest,” I admitted. “But you did say you’d be able to reconstruct the missing information from the weekly reports of your funeral directors.”
    “That’s correct,” she said, “and I’m going to start on that tomorrow. But I wanted you to know that someone made a deliberate and seemingly successful effort to impede the investigation. Archy, I’m now even more certain that something very wrong is happening at Whitcomb’s. It may be just dishonest or unethical but it may be criminal, and it’s got to be stopped.”
    “No doubt about it,” I agreed. “How soon will you be able to provide me with the missing information?”
    She thought a moment. “It shouldn’t take longer than two or three days. I’ll phone you as soon as I have it.”
    “Fine. Those names and addresses will provide a good start. Tell me, Sunny, have you informed Mr. Horace of this inquiry and that the computers have been tampered with?”
    “I have not,” she said explosively, “and I don’t intend to. And I forbid you or your father mentioning it to him. Is that understood?”
    Overreacting again. I began to wonder if father’s and my initial impression had been accurate: this was one squirrelly woman.
    “Completely understood,” I told her. “You may depend on our discretion.”
    I finished my second glass of beer (they were only eight ounces per) and started to rise.
    Sunny gave me one of her rare sunny smiles. “Must you go?” she said.
    Zing! Went the Strings of My Libido.
    I set my empty pilsner on an end table and turned back. Then she was not in my arms, I was in hers. She smelled delightful.
    “I should tell you,” I said, “I don’t kiss on the first date.”
    She cracked up. It was the