It was Paul Emerson. I was nearing the edge of the clump of trees, with Madeline not far off. When I looked up I could see only the top half of Emerson because he was standing on the other side of my car and the hood hit the rest of him. I told him hello, not expansively.
“This isn’t the same car,” he stated.
“That’s right,” I agreed. “The other one was a sedan. That’s a convertible. You have a sharp eye. Why, did you like the sedan better?”
“I suppose,” he said cuttingly, “you have Mr. Sperling’s permission to wander around here?”
“I’m here, Paul,” Madeline said sweetly. “Maybe you couldn’t see me for the trees. My name’s Sperling.”
“I’m not wandering,” I told him. “I’m looking for something.”
“What?”
“You. Mr. Wolfe sent me to congratulate you on your broadcast yesterday. His phone’s been busy ever since, people wanting to hire him. Would you mind lying down so I can run the car over you?”
He had stepped around the front of the hood and advanced, and I had emerged from the clump of trees. Within arm’s reach he stood, his nose and a corner of his mouth twitching, and his eyes boring into me.
“There are restrictions on the air,” he said, “that don’t apply here. The animal I had in mind was the hyena, the ones with four legs are never fat, but those with two legs sometimes are. Your boss is. You’re not.”