“Yes,” I said, disgusted, “and I did a lousy job. Greer will probably fire my ass and demand her retainer back.” I rifled the bookcase for my copy of The Damn Fool’s Guide to Private Investigation. Time to bone up a little. “How was the interview?”

Jolie beamed. “I’m hired. I start on the first of June.”

“I guess that’s good news,” I said warily.

Jolie put her hands on her hips. “You don’t seem all that happy,” she said. A mischievous light danced in her eyes. “What’s the matter, Moje? Ain’t this town big enough for both of us?”

“Spare me the western movie clichés,” I said. “Of course it is. It’s just weird that you’d give up your lab job, that’s all. You must be down for a major cut in pay, for one thing. You have a nice condo in Tucson, friends—”

“I need a change,” she said. “I have plenty of money saved, so I won’t feel the pinch for a long time, if ever.” She paused. “And I want to be closer to Lillian.”

“I still think there’s more to it,” I insisted, but I understood about Lillian. From the looks of things, she didn’t have a lot of time left and, like Jolie, I wanted to be there for her.

“Like what?” Jolie challenged.

“Like a man,” I said. “If somebody done you wrong, you can tell me. It’s not as if I’ve got any room to judge.”

“No man,” Jolie said, and then she looked away, so I knew she was lying.

Before I could think of what to say next, she picked up a copy of the newspaper lying on the coffee table and handed it to me.

“Isn’t that your uncle’s wife?” she asked.

I focused in on the picture. Sure enough, it was Barbara Larimer, presiding over some charity event. She was rich and influential, so there was nothing unusual about that. What struck me like the heel of somebody’s palm to my larynx was that she was standing up.

“Where’s the wheelchair?” I muttered, scanning the article. I’d thought the photo might have been pulled from some file, and thus from an earlier and more mobile time in Babs’s life, but it was current.

“What wheelchair?” Jolie asked.

“She was in a wheelchair when I met her.” I tapped the picture. Mrs. Senator-and-Maybe-Governor was smiling, her blond hair gleaming, and she looked strong enough to kick off her ritzy shoes, hike up her Vera Wang and run a 5K without sweating through her makeup. “What the hell?”

Jolie shrugged. “I just thought you’d want to see it because she’s—you know—family.”