Her Man Friday(36)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

And even though he was confident that his acquaintance with Miss Rigby had gone beyond the vaguely stage—that sprawl in the park had kinda clued him in to that fact—he could tell that she was still holding back from him. Just what all she was holding back, he wished he knew. But somehow, he was confident that she didn’t speak as freely with him as she did with others.

Like Kimball, for example, he thought grudgingly.

But his grudge was interrupted by a booming remark from Charlton Heston Man, who demanded, "Do assure me, Mr. Friday, that you haven’t been standing up straight like that when you’ve been at Mr. Kimball’s estate."

Leo bit back a growl of discontent. "No, of course not," he said, striving for a bland expression. "In fact, I’ve been doing these slouching exercises I read about in Men’s Health magazine. I do them every morning, as soon as I get up, and they’ve already taken a full two centimeters off of my original height."

The other man eyed Leo suspiciously, clearly not sure whether he was to be believed or not.

"Honest," Leo said without a single smirk. "I also bought some special shoes."

Charlton Heston Man nodded slowly. "Good," he muttered, though he sounded considerably less Moses-like than he usually did. "Keep up the good work."

Leo refrained from comment.

"Nice glasses, Mr. Friday," Versace Man piped up cheerfully. "Ralph Lauren?" he guessed.

"Wal-Mart," Leo told him.

The other man appeared utterly shocked. "Truly?"

Leo nodded.

Versace Man scribbled a note on the pad before him as he muttered, "I had no idea."

"So what do you have for us today, Mr. Friday?"

This time it was Cohiba Man, speaking from behind a faint haze of cigar smoke, his expression as bored as ever, his voice offering no indication of what he might be expecting.

"Not much," Leo said.

"Not much?" echoed Thesaurus Man. "Nothing? Nought? Cipher? Rien?" he quoth further.

"Nada, zip, zero, zilch," Leo threw in for good measure.

"That was what you told us last week," Halston Man said shortly.

"Yeah, well, that’s what you’re getting this week, too," Leo snapped back. "Because I still don’t have anything of significance to report."

"What’s the problem?" Cohiba Man asked.

"The problem is that there are still a handful of files in Kimball’s computer that I haven’t been able to access, that’s what. Unless you’d be interested in the man’s top secret sangria recipe."

"Oh, I would be," Halston Man said, lifting a finger.

"I’ll e-mail it to you," Leo promised shortly. He turned his attention back to Cohiba Man. "Aside from that, though, after two weeks of trying, all I’ve found in Kimball’s other files at the estate are the kinds of things I’d expect to find there. What I’ve discovered that’s business related is pretty mundane stuff. Although there are some financial records, they’re all standard information, and none of them appears to have been tampered with, anyway. Certainly none of them has indicated that there’s anything suspicious going on."

"Have you tried Mr. Kimball’s laptop?" Cohiba Man asked.

Leo nodded. "After he returned from Bermuda, it was the first thing I did. And lemme tell ya, you’re gonna get billed double for that day, because not only did I have to sneak around the man’s private quarters to access it, but his laptop is a mine field of totally incoherent files. It’s like the guy doesn’t know the first thing about using a computer, which I find kind of odd, because he’s such an alleged industrial wizard."

"Mr. Kimball’s technology is mechanically oriented, not computer-oriented," Versace Man said. "And how do you know that what appears to be a mine field of incoherent files isn’t actually some brilliantly designed booby trap device to keep people out of those files?"

Leo rolled his eyes. "Trust me. I know. It’s my job to know. Nobody’s brilliant enough to make files look that stupid. Kimball’s no neatnik when it comes to his personal computer files, though, that’s for sure. And his business ones aren’t in great shape, either. Frankly, I don’t know how the guy runs his business with things in the kind of shape they’re in."

"Oh, please, Mr. Friday," Versace Man said. "It couldn’t possibly be as bad as you say."

Before Leo could comment on that, Cohiba Man cut him off.

"So what, exactly, does all this mean, Mr. Friday?"

Leo hesitated before responding. Oh, God. He’d just been addressed by his own name for the fifth time in a row. He nearly dropped to his knees and wept with joy at hearing it. His ecstasy was short-lived, however, when he realized he had no idea how to answer the man’s question.

"It means…" He sighed fitfully, running a hand restlessly through his hair. "It means my work at Kimball’s estate isn’t finished yet, I guess."

Cohiba Man nodded, but he didn’t look happy at all. "Then I suppose you’ll be returning to Ashling now."

Returning to Ashling now, Leo repeated to himself. Why did that sound so much like, Last night, I dreamed I returned to Manderley?

"But just so you know, Mr. Friday," Cohiba Man added with a substantial puff of fragrant smoke, "you’re on a timer now."

"What?" Leo asked, certain he’d misunderstood.

"We can’t afford to let this investigation go on indefinitely," he said. "We can’t wait around forever. We’re going to need to set some parameters."

"Parameters?"

"Circumscription," Thesaurus Man piped up. "Rubicon. Boundaries. Time frame."

"I know what parameters are, you—" Leo curled his hands into tight fists. "Look, I told you guys from the get-go that this could take some time."

"Mr. Friday, it already has taken some time. Too much time." Cohiba Man doubled his own fists on the table and leaned forward in a pose that was surprisingly menacing, considering he resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy. "And now, you’re going to wind things up, and find out once and for all what the hell is going on."

If he hadn’t seen it himself, Leo would have thought those last words had been uttered by Charlton Heston Man, so God-like had they been.

"And how do you suggest I step up the pace, huh?" he demanded, reaching the end of his own none-too-long fuse. He couldn’t quite hide the frustration that had been building for weeks when he said, "I’ve tried everything I know to get to the bottom of what’s going on with Kimball’s files. I’ve looked everywhere I can possibly look to find out where fifty million bucks might have disappeared, and where it might show up again. I don’t know what else to do."