The Undertaker (50 page)

I looked up at her and smiled back. Her raven hair was long and wild now, hanging halfway down her back in a long, single braid. I liked it that way. She had been working-out like a fanatic to get her figure back and I liked that too. If I stayed out in the sun too long, I burned, but she and the baby had tanned to a rich, golden brown. It must be the Italian skin, I thought. But barefoot, in that thin, white cotton top and colorful Indian skirt, it was hard to tell her from the natives.

“Anything in there?” she asked, pointing at the
Times
.

“No, of course not,” I answered as I reached out and pulled her close, running my hand across her bare stomach. “Do you want there to be?”

“Get real,” she laughed as my hand moved higher under the white cotton top and lightly caressed her breast.

She closed her eyes and let my hand linger there. She didn't push it away. “Hold that thought,” she finally leaned over and whispered.

“Hold that thought?”

“Yeah. After lunch.”

“After lunch?”

“Yeah,” she said as she pulled my hand out and gave my fingers a light kiss. “I have to help Rosaria with the salad. After we put the baby down, maybe you'll get lucky.” She turned and bounced happily away into the house, humming some new country song she'd been playing.

After she had gone, I picked up the paper again. It was the Classified Section of the
Sunday New York Times
, which I had folded open to page four. At the bottom, I re-read the same small, inconspicuous boxed ad that I had been staring at off and on for most of the past hour. “Ace and Sweet Pea, come on home,” and it was signed “Gino”.

I refolded the section, stuck it in the middle of the tall stack, and walked over to the bin where we kept the kindling we used to start the fire. I dropped the Times inside, where it joined what was left of the last three issues before it.

I walked back to the baby, picked him up, and carried him into the middle of the courtyard where we could both look up at the sky. For the most part, it was a clear blue, except for a handful of soft, white, puffy clouds passing to the east. I stared at them and squinted. The pattern slowly changed and I swore I saw Terri's face up there, but only for an instant. This was the first time in many, many months that I had seen her. She was so far away, but yeah, it was her. It was nice to know she was up there, that she was smiling, and I didn't need to be a “rocket scientist” to figure out why.

William F. Brown
lives in Columbus, Ohio. As the Vice President of the real estate subsidiary of a Fortune 500 corporation, he traveled widely in the US and abroad. A native of Chicago, he earned a BA in History and Russian Area Studies and a graduate degree from the University of Illinois. He has been active in politics and numerous civic organizations over the years.

He is the author of two published suspense novels and two that are presently out with publishers. Beaufort Books published his first novel,
The Allah Conspiracy
in hardback. His second novel,
Thursday at Noon
is a Joan Kahn Book published by St. Martin's Press in hardback, in paperback by Harlequin's Gold Eagle, and in various foreign editions in the UK, Brazil, Canada, and Australia. It was reviewed favorably in the
New Yorker
and in many other major publications.

In addition to the two novels, he has written four screenplays. They won
First Place
in the suspense category of the Final Draft contest,
Finalist
in Fade In,
First Place
in the Screenwriter's Utopia -Screenwriter's Showcase Awards,
Second Place
in the American Screenwriter's Association,
Second Place
at Breckenridge, and others. One was optioned.

In addition to golf and painting, he has traveled widely in Russia, Germany, the Caribbean, England, Ireland, Scotland, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Italy, Austria, Egypt, and Israel.

He is presently writing his fifth novel, another fast-paced domestic thriller.

• Copyright Page
  
• Title Page
  
  • Dedication
    
• THE UNDERTAKER
  
  • PROLOGUE
    
  • CHAPTER ONE
    
  • CHAPTER TWO
    
  • CHAPTER THREE
    
  • CHAPTER FOUR
    
  • CHAPTER FIVE
    
  • CHAPTER SIX
    
  • CHAPTER SEVEN
    
  • CHAPTER EIGHT
    
  • CHAPTER NINE
    
  • CHAPTER TEN
    
  • CHAPTER ELEVEN
    
  • CHAPTER TWELVE
    
  • CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    
  • CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    
  • CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    
  • CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    
  • CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    
  • CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    
  • CHAPTER NINETEEN
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
    
  • CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
    
  • CHAPTER THIRTY
    
  • CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
    
  • CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
    
  • EPILOGUE
    
• About the Author
  

• Copyright Page
  
• Title Page
  
• Dedication
  
• THE UNDERTAKER
  
• PROLOGUE
  
• CHAPTER ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWO
  
• CHAPTER THREE
  
• CHAPTER FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FIVE
  
• CHAPTER SIX
  
• CHAPTER SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER NINE
  
• CHAPTER TEN
  
• CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWELVE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
• CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
• EPILOGUE
  
• About the Author