How could she be? Even the most cynical girlfriend surely wouldn’t expect me to bed down after an hour with a woman I haven’t seen in a quarter of a century.

“First, I’m going to call Mrs. Ting and see if she’ll talk to me. I want to arrange to get out to see the plant as soon as possible.” “Well, hurry back,” she says, and adds, her voice suddenly insecure, “I miss

you already.”

“I miss you, too,” I say.

“We’ll have fun tomorrow night.” She knows something is wrong. I do, too.

After I get Amy off the phone, I look up Mrs. Ting’s number and give her a call, but it is Connie, Tommy’s younger sister, who answers. I haven’t seen her since I moved away. My main memory is of a busty, ponytailed girl in a white T-shirt who practiced cheers on the sidewalk while Tommy and I played tennis. Cute as a ladybug, she was even smarter than her brother. She must have already heard the news that I’m representing Bledsoe, for there is an understandable lack of warmth in her voice as she explains that tonight would not be a good time to see her mother. She puts the phone down and then tells me that I can come by tomorrow morning about ten.

“I’m really sorry about your father, Connie. I know he was a good man.” She doesn’t respond. I ask and get Tommy’s number in Maryland before she practically hangs up on me. I wonder what she is doing now.

Surely, she didn’t stay in Bear Creek.

I put down the phone, feeling as if I am a salesman who is accustomed to regarding the rudeness of the human race as normal.

Disappointed that I have not been able to establish any rapport with Connie, I dial Tommy’s number. When I go through that plant, I want the workers to open up and talk to me. If Class has been set up by Paul,

someone out there may know who did it. I recognize Tommy’s voice as soon as he answers the phone. Even after all these years, and despite having been born in the United States, Tommy has never quite managed to sound like he was a Caucasian. There was always a slight burr in his speech, and that is what I hear now.