High Noon

decided. But not all she could do.
    Back in her office, she wrote up a log, listing the times and dates, the incidents she believed were connected. To these she added her own speculations.
    Rat—symbol—snitch, turncoat, deserting sinking ship.
    Snake—symbol—evil, sneaky, bringer of ruin to Paradise.
    Rabbit—symbol—cowardly, running away.
    Might be taking it all too far, psychologically, she mused, but it was better to err on the side of caution than to just err.
    Whistling keeps the voice disguised, anonymous. What does the song mean? Do not forsake me. Who was forsaken? Who did or might do the forsaking?
    High Noon. One man standing up against corruption and cowardice (rabbit as cowardice?). Rat as desertion of townspeople. Snake as corruption. Cooper as sheriff (wasn’t he? Rent the damn movie), standing alone in the final showdown.
    Was it about the movie or just the song? she wondered. She did a search, found the lyrics and printed them out for the file she would make.
    High noon was a kind of deadline, wasn’t it? Do this by this time or pay the price.
    She sat back. And if it was Arnie Meeks harassing her, he wouldn’t be thinking about symbols and hidden meanings. It just wasn’t his style.
    Still, she’d make up the file. And on the way home, she’d hunt up a copy of High Noon.

TERMINATION PHASE
    I do not know what fate awaits me.
    —“ HIGH NOON ”

21
    Screaming kids and the lightning-flash mood swings of little girls didn’t appear to ruffle Duncan’s feathers. In fact, his easy slide through kid world had Phoebe wondering if the man had any feathers to ruffle.
    What he did, she noted, was play like a maniac. Whatever it was—video arcade, miniature golf, whack-a-mole, he was into it. She liked games as much as the next person, and God knew she’d done her stints at fun centers. But she’d never come out of one, in her memory, without a vague headache, a stomach uneasy from strange combinations of food, and feet that ached like a tooth headed for a root canal.
    She had a touch of all three results, and sat herself down on a bench while Duncan took on all challengers in what he called the Champion Round of mini-golf.
    Carly was having the time of her life, and the other kids who’d packed along were flocked around him like he was the Pied Piper. And how, Phoebe wondered, did spending hours racing virtual cars or hitting a red ball through the rotating fans of a plastic windmill equal researching an investment possibility?
    Loo dropped down beside her. “I should’ve gotten a manicure. These places wear me out and I knew that man would talk me into coming.”
    “Phin’s looking a little worn himself.”
    “Not Phin.” Loo sucked diet soda through a straw. “I know all his tricks by now. Duncan. I know all his, too, but damn that man always gets around me.”
    From her vantage point, Phoebe studied him. He’d sat through an elementary school production of Cinderella with every appearance of being thoroughly entertained. And had capped that off by insisting on buying the redheaded stepsister an ice cream cone.
    Naturally, Carly was crazy about him.
    And now he was giving every appearance of being thoroughly entertained by playing mini-golf with a platoon of overexcited children.
    “Duncan doesn’t look worn at all,” Phoebe observed.
    “Probably live here if he could.” Loo slipped her own aching feet out of her sandals. “Look at him, crouched down on that old green carpet eyeballing the hole like he’s Tiger Woods in the Playland Open. Kids eating it right up like ice cream sundaes, which I warn you, he’ll insist on after this is over.”
    Phoebe pressed a hand to her stomach. “Oh God.”
    “Won’t play real golf. Phin’s dragged him out several times, and tells me Duncan says stuff like: ‘Where’s the windmill?’ or ‘When do we get to the troll bridge?’” She let out her big laugh. “Bruises our Phin’s dignity, which is exactly Dunc’s purpose.”
    Because she could hear Duncan say it, Phoebe smiled. “So he just wanted to come out and play. This investment business is a ruse.”
    “Oh no, he’s given it serious thought. He’ll be working out the pros and cons now.”
    Lips pursed, Phoebe studied Duncan as he argued the count of strokes on a hole with Phin. “Yes, I can see that.”
    “I mean it.” Loo gave Phoebe a poke. “He’s going to have a good ballpark idea how many kids and adults came through the turnstiles today, which areas