THE HUNDRED-AND-THIRTY-THIRD PAGE

It was not coincidence when I found evidence of My Editor’s residence on my turf; it was inevitable.

Although my work for publishers in the city had diminished, I replenished supplies for the home office from time to time and that required a trip to one of the hated malls about a dozen miles away. Along the way a few decrepit motels clutter the roadway. One suspects they get more day than night use, but that was of no concern to me or the dog as we went our way. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I thought I spotted a large red vehicle. Another glance backward in the rearview mirror confirmed it was a red Range Rover. Of course, there could be any number of Range Rovers about the county, but red?

It would be pointless to turn around and check it out at that time. When we returned from the mall, the red car was gone, but this was not discouraging; rather it gave us an excellent opportunity to check out the situation. I inquired at the desk about the owner of the red car as I had never seen a Range Rover of such hue. He said the owner was probably a salesman because in recent weeks he had been in and out. He was now out and the clerk was not in a position to say more or to give out the names of clientele. He would take my phone number if I wanted to be called. No, thank you very much.