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at the scene of the death?" I
asked.
    "No," she said.
    "I see," I said. "So when did you first see
the body?"
    "The morgue," she said.
    "So, you weren't at the motel room?"
    She shook her head no.
    I fished in my pocket for the button, and I
had a crazy idea. I was being stupid here. I was giving the person
who hired me the third degree. Was I insane or something?
    To top that off, I remembered that I'd
forgotten to cash the check.
    Well, still, I was going to do my job. I held
the button out. "Is this yours?"
    She looked at it for a while, but then shook
her head no.
    "You don't recognize it?"
    "No," she said.
    "Are you sure?"
    She looked at me strangely. "No, it doesn't
look familiar," she said.
    "Okay," I said. "That's fine." I slipped it
back into my pocket. She was lying. I couldn't tell by reading her
features, but I could feel it. And I had the button maker's records
too. She was lying. The question was a big, fat 'why'?
    I left there and didn't return to my car. My
bank had a branch across the way inside a very large convenience
store. They only had one teller in there at a time, but it was a
convenient location.
    I went in and cashed the check to my account.
Actually to Ray Crusafi's account, which was my identity right
now.
    If I had a choice, I would have spent the
rest of the day digging deeper in my only case, but I didn't have a
choice. Last month I'd promised the parish priest that I'd help
today. Today the church was holding a rummage sale. They'd
collected hundreds of donated items, and today was the big
sale.
    The money went to church charities and the
like. And I'd promised I'd help the whole day. After all, I'm
self-employed and I have freedom like that, right?
    After all, who needs money?
    I drove to the church. Stuff was already
being set out. I parked on the outskirts and headed over to spend
the day helping.
    That night when I got home, Marline, my wife
was there. Lights were on that I could see as I unlocked and let
myself in.
    Immediately after getting in, I relocked both
locking mechanisms. Our door itself was solid steel. When we built
the house, a crane was used to put the door in place, and the
hinges on it are traditionally used on bank vault doors. We had to
use them as no other hinge could support the weight of the
door.
    The door frame itself, while completely
invisible, like the framework of any house, was not ordinary
either. It was constructed of steel I-beams, and each had their own
concrete footers.
    "Marline?" I called out.
    As is my habit when I enter my house, I
reached up to the top of the coat rack and felt to see if the Glock
was still lying up there. It was, and it wasn't the only
strategically placed firearm lying around the house.
    Marline had only known me as Ray Crusafi, for
about the last five years. Hopefully she'd never have to know me as
anything else, but even still I made her keep her distance from me
in public. It was for her own protection, but she didn't know
that.
    She thought she'd married a very eccentric
and somewhat paranoid man with a thing for security and safety.
Again, hopefully she'd always think that and never have the truth
forced on her.
    Who I am needs to remain a secret.
    "Hi!" she said as I entered the kitchen.
    "You cut your hair?"
    "I had it done. What do you think?"
    I hate questions like that. Women aren't
looking for an honest answer. Well, they are. But only a positive,
honest answer. No other kind of answer is acceptable.
    Her chestnut brown hair was now neck length
and curled up at the ends. Last time I'd seen her it was almost to
her waist. I liked it better the other way.
    "Looks good," I said.
    "You think so?" she asked.
    "Yeah, yeah. Looks good," I said.
    She pushed a plate of sandwiches towards me.
"Your favorite," she said.
    Indeed it was. It was the so-called Elvis
Presley sandwich, and she made them totally authentic for me.
    It's mashed banana on one side and creamy
peanut butter on the other side. Then it's grilled or fried in
bacon