While the rest of Ethel's wardrobe was nothing short of spec­tacular, her underwear was a throwback to another era. Instead of designer thongs or flimsy lace things, Ethel wore the plainest of cotton panties, the type described by past generations as 'practi­cal.' Dean remembered them from the dime stores of his youth, tightly rolled little balls of cotton in every color of the rainbow, all stuffed in long plastic tubes. Some came with the days of the week emblazoned on them. As Dean lay in the dark, he absentminded­ly wondered if Ethel always wore "Thursday" when he came to call. He leisurely began to trace a finger along the elastic waist­band in search of a telltale imperfection he could locate on a later date, giving identifying confirmation to his theory. But his mind was soon engaged in earthier matters.

When their lovemaking finished, Dean remained in bed, his arms folded behind his head, awaiting Ethel's return from her obligatory post coital trip to the bathroom. His mind kept think­ing, not of Ethel, but of Cynthia Byrne. He wondered about the last time she and her husband had made love, never knowing it would be the very last, ever. How different if must be, he thought, making love with someone for whom you really cared.

The toilet flushed and Ethel returned, proceeded in the dark­ness by the tiny pinpoint light of her cigarette. He felt her sit on the bed next to him. He disliked her smoking and the stale smell that always surrounded her like a bar room musk. While she'd never admit to concern for his wishes, Ethel seemed to limit her smoking around Dean, but never abstinence from the mandatory one "after."

"What happens to someone's estate when they go missing?" he asked.

She turned abruptly, surprised at the question. "Legally?"

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"Yeah. Do their heirs have to wait seven years or something like that?"

"It depends on the state law and on the circumstances," she replied.

"Just like a lawyer." He chuckled as she stretched out beside him.

She adjusted the pillow and reached across him to extinguish her cigarette. "That's what I am, honey bunch. Are you talking about the Byrne case?"

"I'm impressed," he replied. "No wonder you sharp lawyers charge so much."

"I read about it in the paper. And Arthur was talking about it. He used to do some work for World Wide Insurance-where Byrne worked."

"Did he know Byrne?"

"Heavens, no. Arthur never deals with the peons. But to answer your question, I'm serious-it depends on where it hap­pened. Different laws apply in different jurisdictions. The circum­stances have a lot to do with it too. If an airplane crashes in the middle of the ocean and someone is listed as a passenger on it, it's pretty simple, even if there's never a body. The presumption of death is high so obtaining a death certificate would probably be easy. Often it's a judgment thing-the court weighs all the facts and makes a determination. If there's a serious doubt, the heirs may have to wait a good long time, even seven years."




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