With her new high-powered binoculars Zoe’s world had expanded significantly, and she regularly reported to Sean on which women needed root touch-ups in their hair or a refresher on their pedicure. She might identify a possible carcinoma on someone’s face or comment on a particularly obvious comb-over. “I don’t understand it,” she would often say. “Don’t balding men know everyone else can see that their parting is halfway down their head and the hair that’s left is being hijacked to drape over their hairless dome?” Observing a person’s walk, physical appearance or the company they kept, she’d concoct intricate and detailed stories about their lives. When she saw someone particularly interesting, she’d jump in the elevator, race out of her building and follow them for blocks. Sean often joined her on the “investigations”. If Zoe took things too far, which she often did, he was there to reel her in. His best friend made the ordinary exciting and Sean enjoyed the ride, even if it sometimes got them both into hot water.

Because her husband Conner was in law enforcement, Zoe hid her voyeurism from him, convincing herself she only watched people as research for her writing. When the Covid-19 virus forced everyone in New York into masks, it nearly ruined everything. Now unable to see faces, everyone looked the same. For that reason alone, Zoe Brandt couldn’t wait for the pandemic to be over.

“It’s no fun with everyone covered up,” she said to Sean. “You can’t see what anyone looks like anymore. It’s just a sea of masks. If I can’t see people’s facial expressions, how will I know if they’re up to something?”

“Let’s go out on the street and resume our investigations on foot today,” Sean replied. “We can cover a lot more territory together.”

“I want to get a look in the back of the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” said Zoe, squinting her eyes as she looked at Sean on her screen. “Something strange is going on over there. When I walked around behind the building yesterday, there were a bunch of men in blue jumpsuits loading wooden crates into unmarked white vans. I think they were possibly stealing antiquities.”

“Maybe they were moving some art into storage,” said Sean. “You might be jumping to conclusions.”

“You sound just like Conner. All I know is, something looked funny. You know I have a sixth sense about these things; it’s like I have radar.”

“You must have had your radar turned off the day you called US immigration and blew the whistle on that Peruvian girl.”

“She didn’t know anything about Lima. How could you be Peruvian and know nothing about the largest city in the country? It was an honest mistake.”

“Tell that to the FBI,” said Sean.