CHAPTER FOURTEENThe telephone was ringing and Lindsey woke up utterly lost. This wasn’t his room in the stucco house on Laurel Drive, the house in Walnut Creek where he’d lived most of his life. Nor was it his sterile, modern bedroom in the sterile, modern Denver high-rise where he’d lived since his promotion to Deputy Director of SPUDS. It was—
The morning light was filtering through the window that looked northward across 58th Street.
He was in New York, in Cletus Berry’s live/work space, and the telephone was ringing.
He crawled out of the futon and picked up the handset.
“Mr. Lindsey?”
He admitted it.
“Mr. Lindsey, this is Petrus Berry phoning. We’ve never met but I saw you at my brother’s,” a momentary pause, “obsequies yesterday. Maybe you saw me at the funeral home or at the c
