Programmed for Peril

distant expression. She looked no more capable of making her familiar fist and pumping it than flying. Abruptly Trish was sure Samantha would never work for her again.
    Samantha told her what had happened: the living burial, the terror of sightless hours of silence before the first fireman’s shout, the shame and disgust she felt after fouling herself in fear. As the dreadful tale unfolded Trish imagined herself in Sam’s place. In time she began to weep. Sam’s face twisted in distress. “I’ll be okay, Trish. Don’t cry for me.”
    Trish’s sniffles rose to wails. She cried not for Samantha, but for herself.
    She was beginning to unravel.
    She battled her growing despair, calmed herself. She used her handkerchief. Deep breaths!
    When she had it together she asked Samantha a great favor. Would she visit the police with her?
    “I already talked to them, Trish. They asked me bunches of questions. I answered all of them.” Sam spoke in a monotone. “Their doctor was the one who checked me over. She gave me some pills.”
    “I want you to talk to my friend, Detective Morris. Maybe to a man named Sarkman.”
    Samantha stared at her for a long moment. Something like weariness clouded her gaze. No, it was the towering shadow of Carson’s recent attentions. “I’d... rather not,” she said.
    Trish knew that was a final decision.
    Trish went to Jerry Morris alone. He suggested coffee in the diner down the street from police headquarters. He had read the officers’ report. “What did we find out?” he said. “Carson grabbed Samantha and buried her. He wore gloves, used her car, left nothing in the way of clues.”
    “There must be something.”
    He shrugged. “We didn’t find anything.”
    Despair stirred Trish’s chest. “Carson’s winning,” she said softly. “Losing Samantha is a big blow to my business. And”—she paused and swallowed the growing lump in her throat—“he’s getting to my head big time.”
    Jerry’s long face angled sympathetically. “I wish there was more I could do.”
    “You gave me the pistol lessons.” She didn’t want him to think he had disappointed her. Feeling that way told her he meant more to her than she realized. Her emotions were so stirred she knew better than to trust them at that moment. “I’m doing what you told me to: taking the weapon with me everywhere.” She touched her big straw summer purse.
    “I hope you never have to use it,” he said. “If you do, I hope you can.”
    She touched his wrist. “Jerry, what should I do now?” He looked down into his cup. “Go into conference with yourself. Do some deciding. Like how much more of Carson’s meddling can you bear? Do you want to keep your business open anymore? Do you want to marry Foster tomorrow?” He glanced at her face. “How much more can your nerves take? You called Carson your devil.”
    “He’s tangled up in me, inside and out.”
    “You have to do some figuring. Maybe you should talk to your fiancé.”
    She felt a swell of despair. How much Carson’s activities had undermined her engagement! She imagined neither she nor Foster could precisely describe the nature of their relationship at this moment.
    She called Foster and asked to visit. He was at the kennel. She drove out with Melody in tow. Doris the kennel manager could be relied upon to make sure the girl got a chance to play with Gog and Magog. Trish wasn’t sure what she would say once she had told Foster the story about Samantha. When she finished she surprised herself by saying, “Darling, I want you to protect me and my business.”
    He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. She noticed his face had thinned. In fact, his whole body looked lighter. “You’ve lost weight,” she said.
    “Like you, I have a great deal on my mind.” There was a time when she could read him. A simpler time for both of them. Now his thoughts were riddles.
    “What do you mean, protect you?” he asked.
    “I—I’m not sure. I have the baker down the street watching my building. Maybe you could hire somebody to look after me. A bodyguard or something.”
    He looked surprised. “Have you been threatened?”
    “Foster! Since that very first message on my PC screen I have been threatened. Wouldn’t you say having my car crushed by a steam roller was threatening? Come on, love! My entire business and emotional life are hanging in the balance, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    “There’s no need to be difficult,