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to college?”
    “No need of that,” Mr. Peters said.
    “Well, if he really wants to, we might let him, if we can find someone else to help out around here while he’s gone,” Mrs. Peters said, laying her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t hurt to learn some of the things that they teach over at the college. We’ll have to see how things are going.”
    Pallor nodded politely.
    “Look, this kid’ll have it made,” Mr. Peters said. “If he plays his cards right, stays out of trouble, does what we tell him, and takes care of us when we get old, this place’ll be his one day. Can’t ask for much more than that.”
    “No, sir, you sure can’t,” Pallor agreed. Then he stood up and held his hand out to Mr. Peters. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I know you’re a busy man. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”
    Mr. Peters stood up too, held his hand out, and grasped Pallor’s in a bone-crushing grip. “Glad to talk to you. Now when can we expect that kid?”
    “I’m only conducting the initial interviews. I’ll go back to the mother and tell her what you said and what you have to offer, but the final decision’s hers.”
    “As it should be,” Mrs. Peters said quietly. “A mother always knows what’s best for her child.”
    Pallor nodded, hoping that she was right. “Thanks again for your time. I’ll see myself out.”
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    After he left Ottumwa, Pallor drove back to Des Moines. His flight to New York wasn’t until early Saturday morning, so after checking into his next motel, he wandered around town for a while, had an early dinner, and went back to his room to go through the folders on the Johanssons, his next interview.
    Harold Johansson had just turned forty. He was an advertising executive with a small but growing firm. According to the investigator, he was quite good, good enough that his present firm had actively recruited him for over a year before convincing him to leave the firm he was with and come in with them. Christina Johansson was thirty-seven. She was a professional photographer, and considered one of the best in the field. She worked for the fashion industry and advertising agencies, free-lanced for newspapers, had done the photos for several travel books, and had a studio where she did private portraits. Their financial statement was impressive. They made good money, invested wisely, and spent less that they made. Their only outstanding debt was for their condo in New York. Their house outside Richmond was paid for. All in all, their future prospects looked solid.
    On a personal level, the investigator noted that their housekeeper, Gladys Stokes, had been with them for the past ten years, moving with them each time they relocated and finally settling with them in New York. Before coming to work for the Johanssons, she had worked for Christina’s parents for over twenty years. In addition to running the condo in New York, she also saw to the upkeep of their house in Virginia. She seemed to be more like a part of their family than their employee.
    Pallor’s flight landed in New York around lunchtime Saturday. After he checked into his hotel, he called the Johanssons to confirm his meeting with them for 7:00 that evening. They were both out, but Ms. Stokes assured him that they were all looking forward to meeting him.
    At 6:45, Pallor was standing on the street outside their address, in the heart of Manhattan. Not many people could afford to live in Manhattan; the cost of a condo there was prohibitive. Even though he’d seen their financial statement, it didn’t really hit him just how rich they were until he entered the lobby of their building. The place reeked of understated wealth.
    There was a reception desk, just like at a motel, and since he was a little early for his appointment, Pallor sat down in one of the easy chairs that were scattered around the lobby and watched for a few minutes. He saw the clerk hand one lady her dry cleaning, another her