Port Sonoma

with an office. No more client appointments at the coffee shop. I took a deep breath and congratulated myself for a step up the business ladder.
Satisfied with my day’s accomplishments, I got another brew from the fridge, popped a frozen dinner into the microwave, and then went through my collection of detective movie videos. I chose a Bogart movie, slid it into the player and settled down for an uneventful evening at home.
My phone rang and woke me up. The clock read three fifteen a.m. I burped and rubbed my eyes before I picked up my cell phone.
“Handy here, this had better be good.” I gruffly said into the phone and then cleared my throat. “At three-fifteen in the morning, this had better be damned good.”
“Mr. Handy, this is Harlan Cain. I’m in London and I guess I got the time wrong. Did you get my email?”
“Yes I did, Mr. Cain. By the way, my name is just Handy, short for my first name, Handleman. Is it possible you could call me back in five or six hours?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I will be on a plane back to the U.S. then and the plane’s phone reception is pretty lousy. Have you found out anything about my wife yet?”
“No sir. I just got your email this evening. Give me a call when you get back to the West Coast. I need to get as much information about your wife as I can before I can start an investigation. Good night.” I hung up before he could reply. What an asshole. He didn’t know how to add eight hours to his time in London? I turned over and went back to sleep.