I decided to scope the place out before I put the chain on and turned the dead bolt, and before I did that, I needed to put my purchases away, since some of them were frozen. Once the foodstuffs were safe in the cupboards, fridge and freezer, I did a quick but thorough search.

I looked in the back of the closet, under the bed and, heart hammering, behind the shower curtain.

I was well and truly alone.

All clear on the maniac front.

I made coffee, grabbed the phone and sat down at the table to check for voice mail.

Alex had called to say he was going to sue me for harassment if I didn’t stop prying into his affairs. I thought that was an interesting choice of words, since his affairs were precisely the point.

Two other doctors—both friends of Alex’s, of course—called to say my coding and billing services were no longer required.

Good thing I was going into the P.I. business.

The last call made me sit up and take notice.

“Mojo, this is Allison Darroch. I’m calling because there’s something I think you need to know about Tucker. He’s not a cop.”

Was she drunk?

“Ask him what he really does for a living,” Allison finished. A long pause followed, then she said, “Oh, hell. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Forget it. Forget I ever made this stupid call. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Click.

I sat staring at the receiver.

He’s not a cop.

Ask him what he really does for a living.

“Well, I’d love to, Allison,” I said out loud.

I played through her message again and pressed 88 at the end, for a call back.

“Dr. Darroch,” Allison answered crisply.

“Mojo Sheepshanks,” I said.

Uncomfortable silence. Allison broke it, finally. “Look, about that phone call. I don’t—I was upset—”

“What does Tucker ‘really’ do for a living, Allison?”

“Please let this go. He’ll be furious—”

“You opened this can of worms,” I reminded her. “Not me.”

“Ask him.”

“I can’t. I don’t know where he is, or when I’ll see him again. Case of the disappearing—what?”

“Cop.”

“Not buying, Allison.”

“I really can’t tell you.”

“You wanted me to know he wasn’t telling me the truth,” I said. “That’s why you called in the first place, isn’t it?”

“I know you must think I’m some kind of jealous, codependent idiot—”

“I can’t imagine why you’d care what I think,” I said, and hung up.

For a while, I just sat there, staring at the wall.

Tucker had lied to me about his work?

How could that be? I’d seen the write-up in the newspaper, when he’d supposedly been killed in an explosion. Academy graduation photo, cops-in-mourning, the whole bit.

Still, Allison’s statement resonated.