Vera shrugged dismissively, shaking her head. "I got two actually, but I wasn't up doing what you think. I read a book on how the new technology works. Lasers and analog-to-digital converters. I got curious about electricity yesterday, you know? Turns out nobody really knows what it is, which is worrisome if you ask me. Great terminology though. 'Pulse amplitude' and 'oscillation.' Maybe I'll run into a guy I can say that to. What's with you? You want a Coke?"

She had already opened her bottom file drawer where she kept a little cooler packed with ice. She pulled out a Coke in a bottle about the size of a Playtex nurser, and uncapped it by wedging it under the metal drawer handle and giving a quick downward snap. She proffered the bottle, but I shook my head and she drank it down herself. "Have a seat," she said then and set the bottle on the desk top with a thunk.

I moved aside a stack of files and sat down in the extra chair. "What do you know about a woman named Marty Grice who was murdered six months ago? I heard she was insured through CFI."

Vera touched daintily at the corners of her mouth with her thumb and index finger. "Sure, I was assigned to that one. I went out and took a look at the place two days after it happened. God, what a mess. I don't have the proof of loss yet, but Pam Sharkey said she'd get it to me in the next couple of weeks."

"She's the agent on it?"

Vera nodded, taking a drag of her cigarette. She blew the smoke straight up. "The big life-insurance policy lapsed, but there was a little twenty-five-hundred-dollar policy in effect. That's probably not enough to bury a dog these days. There's also a homeowner's for the fire loss, but the guy was desperately underinsured. Pam swears up and down she advised him to upgrade, but he didn't want to be saddled with the added expense. You know how people get. They try to save six bucks and end up blowing two-three hundred thousand when the bottom drops out." She tapped the cigarette on the lip of the empty Coke bottle, neatly knocking the ash into it.

"Why's the settlement taking so long?"

Vera's mouth turned down and she lowered one eyelid – a gesture that conveyed the message "big deal," though I don't know how. "Who knows?" she said. "The guy's got a year to file the claim. Pam says he's been a basket case since his wife died. He can hardly manage to sign his own name."

"Did she leave a will?"

"Not that I heard. The whole thing's been sitting in probate court for the last five months or so, in any event. What's your interest in it? Are you looking into her death?"