O Is for Outlaw

lately. I guess I could call Aldo, but I'm afraid to ask."
    "Here we go. Okay. Oh. There was just one. This's the seventh of May. Lookit here. You're right. He called Louisville." He read the number off to me. "Actually, he made two to the same number. The first was quick, less than a minute. The longer one, ten minutes, was shortly afterward."
    I was frowning at the phone. "It must have been important to him if he flew out the next day."
    "A man of action," he said. "Listen, I gotta get off the phone and go take a leak, but I'll be happy to call you back if I think of anything else."
    "Thanks, Wary."
    Once I hung up, I sat and stared at the phone, trying to "get centered," as we say in California. Ten-twenty here, that would make it one-twenty in Kentucky. I had no clue who he'd called, so I couldn't think of a ruse. I'd have to make it up as I went along. I dialed the number.
    "Louisville Male High School. This is Terry speaking. May I help you?"
    Male High School? Terry sounded like a student, probably working in the office. I was so nonplused I couldn't think of anything to say. "Oops. Wrong number." I put the handset back. Belatedly, my heart thumped. What was this about?
    I took a couple of deep breaths and dialed again.
    "Louisville Male High School. This is Terry speaking. May I help you?"
    "Uh, yes. I wonder if I might speak to the assistant principal? "
    "Mrs. Magliato? One minute." Terry put me on hold, and ten seconds later the line was picked up.
    "Mrs. Magliato May I help you?"
    "I hope so. My name is Mrs. Hurst from the General Telephone offices in Culver City, California. A call was placed to this number from Culver City on May seventh, and the charges are currently in dispute. The call was billed to last-name Magruder, first name Mickey or Michael. Mr. Magruder indicates that he never made such a call, and we've been asked to identify the party called. Can you be of some assistance? We'd appreciate your help."
    "What was that name again?"
    I spelled it out.
    She said, "Doesn't sound familiar. Hold on and I'll ask if anybody else remembers talking to him."
    She put me on hold. I listened to a local radio station, but the sound was pitched too low for me to hear what was being said. She came back on the line. "No, I'm sorry. None of us talked to anyone by that name."
    "What about the principal? Any possibility he might have taken the call himself?"
    "For starters, it's a she and I already asked. The name doesn't ring a bell."
    I thought about the names on the phony documents and pulled them closer. "Uh, what about the names Emmett Vanover, Delbert Amburgey, and Clyde Byler? " I repeated them before she asked, which seemed to piss her off.
    "I know I didn't speak to any one of them. I'd remember the names."
    "Could you ask the office staff?"
    She sighed. "Just a moment," she said. She put a palm across the receiver and I could hear her relay the question. Muffled conversation ensued and then she removed her hand. "Nobody spoke to any of them either. "
    "No one from Culver City?"
    "No-oo." She sang the word on two notes.
    "Ah. Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate your time." I hung up the phone and thought about it for a minute. Who did Mickey talk to for ten minutes? It certainly wasn't her, I thought. I got up from the desk and went back to the kitchen, where I took out a butter knife and the jar of extra-crunchy Jif. I took a tablespoon of peanut butter on the blade and spread it on the roof of my mouth, working it with my tongue until my palate was coated with a thin layer of goo. "Hello, this is Mrs. Kennison," I said aloud, in a voice that sounded utterly unlike me.
    I returned to the phone and dialed the number again. When Terry answered, I asked the name of the school librarian.
    "You mean Ms. Calloway?" she said.
    "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten. Could you transfer me?"
    Terry was happy to oblige, and ten seconds later I was going through the same routine, only this time with a variation. "Mrs. Calloway, this is Mrs. Kennison with the district attorney's office in Culver City, California. A call was placed to this number from Culver City on May seventh, billed to last-name Magruder, first name Mickey or Michael, "
    "Yes, I spoke to him," she said, before I could finish my tale.
    "Ah. Oh, you did. Well, that's wonderful."
    "I don't know if I'd call it wonderful, but it was pleasant. He seemed like a nice man: articulate, polite."
    "Can you remember the nature of the query?"
    "It was only two weeks