Hidden Riches

reached unsteadily for the headphone. “What did they say it was?”
    “It’s the new Costner flick.” Jed plugged the cord in for her. “I think he plays a cop.”
    “Perfect.” Dora sighed, slipped on the headphones and escaped.
     
    In LA Winesap entered Finley’s office. Timid men, like small dogs, often sense the mood of their master by the scent of the air. Winesap was wringing his hands.
    “You wanted to see me, Mr. Finley?”
    Without looking up from his paperwork, Finley gestured Winesap in. With a stroke of his pen he initialed changes in a contract that would eliminate nearly two hundred jobs. His eyes were blank when he sat back.
    “How long have you worked for me, Abel?”
    “Sir?” Winesap moistened his lips. “Eight years now.”
    “Eight years.” Nodding slowly, Finley steepled his index fingers and tapped his top lip. “A fair amount of time. Are you happy in your work, Abel? You feel you’re well treated, well compensated?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. You’re very generous, Mr. Finley.”
    “I like to think so. And just, Abel. Do you find me a just man, as well?”
    “Always.” Unbidden, the image of DiCarlo’s bloody body flashed into his brain. “Without exception, sir.”
    “I’ve been thinking of you this morning, Abel, all through the morning and into the afternoon. And as I did so, it occurred to me that over these—eight years, did you say?”
    “Yes, eight.” Winesap began to feel like a spider stunned by a hornet. “Eight years.”
    “That over these eight years,” Finley continued, “I’ve had very little cause to criticize your work. You are prompt, you are efficient, you are—in most cases—thorough.”
    “Thank you, sir.” But Winesap only heard the words “most cases.” He felt fear. “I do my best.”
    “I believe you do. Which is why I find myself so disappointed today. I believe you did your best, and it wasn’t quite enough.”
    “Sir?” Winesap’s voice was a squeak.
    “You perhaps haven’t found the time in your busy schedule to read the morning paper?”
    “I glanced at the headlines,” Winesap said apologetically. “Things have been a bit hectic.”
    “One should always make time for current events.” With his eyes glittering on Winesap’s face, Finley stabbed a finger at the newspaper on his desk. “Such as this. Read it now, Abel, if you will.”
    “Yes, sir.” All but shaking in terror, Winesap approached the desk and took the paper. The article Finley referred to was circled over and over again in blood-red ink. “ ’Body discovered by hikers,’ ” Winesap began, and felt his bowels loosen. “ ‘An-an unidentified body was discovered several days ago in a r-ravine—’ ”
    Finley snatched the paper away with a snap. “Your reading voice is weak, Abel. Let me do it for you.” In flowing, melodious tones, Finley read the sketchy report, ending with the standard line about the police investigating. “Of course,” he added, smoothing the paper out on his desk, “we would be able to identify the body, wouldn’t we, Abel?”
    “Mr. Finley. Sir. It was found miles from here. No one would possibly . . .” He cringed, lowering his eyes.
    “I expected better from you, Abel. That was my mistake. You were not thorough,” he said, spacing each word carefully. “They will, of course, identify the body sooner or later. And I will be forced to answer more questions. Naturally, I’m confident that I can handle the police, but the inconvenience, Abel. I really believe you should have spared me this inconvenience.”
    “Yes, sir. I’m terribly sorry.” Winesap thought of the miserable drive into the mountains, the hideous trek with the body dragging behind him. His shoulders sagged. “I can’t apologize enough.”
    “No, no, I don’t believe you can. However, since I have considered your work record carefully and found no unsightly blemishes, I will try to overlook this one. You’ll be leaving for the east in a day or two, Abel. I trust you’ll handle Miss Conroy with more finesse than you handled Mr. DiCarlo.”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll be . . . thorough.”
    “I’m sure you will.” Finley offered a glittering smile that made Winesap think of sharks feeding. “We’ll put this unfortunate mistake out of our minds. I don’t believe we need to discuss it again.”
    “That’s very understanding of you, Mr. Finley.” Cautious, Winesap backed out of the room. “Thank