We pulled up to their offices two hours later, driving from Bozeman back to my hometown. The place smelled of men and sheetrock and drywall. The ambience wasn’t aided all that much by the bright overhead fluorescents. The beer poster-calendars were rather fetching, though. Several of them stretched back more than twenty years. I figured that the scantily clad women plastered across them no longer looked quite so provocative.
The business was called Miller’s Construction. We asked for Mister Miller. The guy up front hollered, “Lou, people asking for you.”
I guessed they didn’t believe in intercoms. In any case, an older man soon walked out, a bit hunched over, gray. “Yeah, whaddaya want?”
It was him! I recognized the voice from the phone! “We called a little while ago, Mister Miller.”
H
