Act of God

register, William Proft’s balding, sandy-haired head nearly brushing the suspended ceiling above him.
    I stood at the prescription register for a full minute before he looked up from what he was doing and noticed me.
    “Mr. Cuddy.”
    “Mr. Proft.”
    He looked down in front of him. “I’ll be just a moment.”
    “Your dime.”
    Proft came back to me. “Or at least half of it is, but still a good point. This can wait.”
    He descended what seemed to be four steps, then opened a gate in the elevated counter to reach my level at the register. He wore a buttoned-down blue shirt under a white lab coat with a pocket protector and three different colored pens in it. “What can I do for you?”
    I glanced around the store. “Slow morning.”
    “Yes. I frequently say I’m the only drug pusher I know who isn’t swamped by customers.”
    The perpetual grin curled some more, to show he thought his remark clever even if I didn’t think it funny.
    “Still,” I said, “it might be nice if we could speak somewhere a little more private.”
    A conspiratorial nod. “I’m about due for a break, and there’s just the best coffee shop a few doors down.”
    “Hazelnut blends?”
    “You remembered.”
    “And the coffee shop will be confidential?”
    “Ah, no. At least, not assuredly. It is a nice day, though. Perhaps a bench outside?”
    “Fine.”
    I followed Proft to the front of the pharmacy, where he advised the young girl that he was going on break, her acknowledging the information with another yawn. On the sidewalk, he led me to the coffee shop, even treating me to an iced-tea-to-go before we settled on a municipal bench without too much pigeon guano staining it.
    Proft tore a small triangle in his coffee’s plastic cover, as though he were worried about spills on a bumpy ride. “So, have you made any progress?”
    “Some. I found out that you and your sister weren’t ex-ac% close.”
    A tentative sip. “I told you that.”
    “Other people said she hated you.”
    “Who?”
    “People in a position to know.”
    “Ah, that sounds like dear Auntie Dar.”
    “I also found out that you and your sister shared a hefty policy on your mother.”
    “That’s correct.”
    “Mind telling me how that came about?”
    “Mother felt insecure after our father left. The policy was her security blanket for us.”
    “How did she die?”
    “From what I was told, Mother was sunbathing on the roof of her apartment house. She got too close to the edge. Or just tripped.”
    “Or was pushed?”
    The grin curled a little more. “Or jumped, for that matter. God knows Mother had a hard enough life to justify it. But I’ve always preferred ‘fell.’ ”
    “Because the insurance company wouldn’t have paid off on a suicide?”
    “And for sentimental reasons as well. She was my natural parent, after all.”
    “You say you prefer to think she fell. Is that what you believe happened?”
    “Rather late in the game to make a difference, wouldn’t you think?”
    “I don’t suppose you remember the name of the police officers who investigated?”
    “After six years?”
    Darlene Nugent had said five. “It would save me some time.”
    Another sip, less tentative. “And your time is my money, correct?”
    “Half of it, anyway.”
    The grin curled toward the corners of his eyes. “You know, Mr. Cuddy, I do enjoy speaking with you. Sparring, if you like, even if I am paying handsomely for the privilege. But I must say, I don’t see what Mother’s death has to do with Darbra’s disappearance.”
    “Turns out you and Darbra have crossover policies on each other.”
    “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t found out about those from Auntie Dar.”
    “You might have told me.”
    “Why?”
    “So I had a better fix on why you wanted your sister found.”
    “No, Mr. Cuddy. My motivation should be immaterial to your investigation. What matters is that you find my sister, not why I want her found.”
    “Maybe it’s material to the condition you want her found in.”
    “Dead, you mean?”
    “A life policy generally requires it.”
    Proft set his cup on the bench. With a labored sigh, he stretched his long arms and legs, the left hand dangling off the end of the bench, the right trailing along the top of the back rest “Our mother made Auntie Dar promise to maintain those policies. Why? I’m sure that consciously it was more security blanket, to provide for the survivor in the event one sibling lost the