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been better than me .
    “Be right over,” he said.
    “Thanks, Sam. Sorry.”
    “Don’t worry about it. You’ll just owe me one.”
    “Uh-huh,” she answered, and he could see her grin through the telephone.
    Being on the wrong side of fifty wasn’t much fun, he thought as he plodded through the gloomy bedroom. He splashed cold water on his face, careful not to notice the graying hair at his temples.
    He was still active—he ran three times a week—and once he got moving, the years seemed to fall away. But the recovery periods were longer, and the mornings after a long run were an aching hell.
    Sam refused to be one of those guys who denied their age, though. He simply wasn’t going to let his body fall apart. They could keep their artificial hair dye and their erection pills; he’d manage in those areas just fine. Besides, Patti told him the gray at his temples made him look distinguished, and he figured he might as well believe it. As for his hard-ons, well, they weren’t as frequent as they once were, but the old dog still managed to stand up and bark when he needed it to.
    Ten more minutes and he was pulling into the station. He could see one of his deputies, Tommy McLaughlin, sitting across from Patti.
    On the green vinyl couch next to Patti’s desk was a woman who looked a little younger than his secretary. Forty, maybe. Not a knockout, but comely enough. Her curly brown hair looked tousled.
    “Hi, Sam,” Patti said.
    Sam nodded. Tommy McLaughlin got up and gestured for Sam to follow. On the way into his office he could feel the lawyer’s wife’s eyes studying him, searching for signs that he would be her salvation.
    He closed the glass door and nodded at Tommy. The young man’s handsome face was careworn, a strained look replacing the cocky good humor Sam had grown accustomed to. Tommy’s blond hair was darkened with sweat and matted to his forehead, reminding Sam of a little boy who’s just awakened from a nasty nightmare. As often happened when he was with Tommy McLaughlin, Sam felt a moment’s regret at never having children, never getting the chance to take a boy fishing or walk a daughter down the aisle.
    “I assume Patti’s filled you in already,” Tommy said.
    “Not really,” Sam said, his mind clearing. “She just said the lawyer—what’s the guy’s name?”
    “Ted Brand.”
    “Patti just said that Brand was missing and his wife was worried over it.”
    Tommy grunted. “Suicidal’s more like it.”  
    “How long has Mr. Brand been missing?”
    Tommy glanced through the window at Mrs. Brand. “She said her husband left the office at five o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
    “And he was coming here?” Sam said.
    “He was transferring the ownership papers to the new owner of Carver House.”
    Sam said, “It takes about two hours to get from Indy to here, right?”
    “At the most,” Tommy answered.
    “So even if Brand is alright—which he probably is—we might not have good news for his wife.”  
    Tommy nodded, examined his shoes.
    “Why don’t you check the hotels. See if Brand checked in somewhere.”  
    Tommy didn’t argue, just nodded again and went out. Sam sat down next to the lawyer’s wife on the green vinyl couch.
    “I’m Sam Barlow,” he said, shaking the woman’s hand. “Patti and Tommy tell me you’re worried about your husband.”
    “Yes,” she said. “This has never happened before.”
    Careful to keep anything insinuating from his voice, Sam asked, “He ever come home late?”  
    “He works late sometimes, but that’s normal,” she said. “Lawyers have to do that.”
    “What’s the latest he’s ever been?”
    “Eleven,” she answered. “Eleven-thirty at the latest.”
    Sam checked his watch. Seven-thirty.
    “Does he know anyone in this part of Indiana?”
    She drew back a little. “Why do you want to know that?”  
    “I’m just wondering if he might have stopped off somewhere.”  
    “Why would he have stopped