Kate plopped herself in the other wing chair and stretched her leg out on an ottoman.

“What are those marks on your cast?” her mother asked. “Do they mean something? They look like crayon.”

Kate stared stupidly at the tally lines.

“Toe exercises,” Dave said. “She’s supposed to do toe exercises every day, and it’s hard to keep track of them, so we mark them on her cast.” Did they buy that?

Elsie shook her head. “Boy, you must think we’re really dumb. Toe exercises, hah.”

“That’s an awful lot of marks,” Kate’s father said to Dave. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you about moderation. You want to pace yourself, son. You’ll get a heart attack.” He drummed his fingers on the padded arm of his chair and didn’t seem displeased at the idea of Dave biting the big one.

“I feel fine, sir. Honest,” Dave said.

“You look like hell. You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Michael Finn’s eyes narrowed. “I just bet you have.”

“Daddy!” Kate glared at her father in warning.

Mr. Finn leaned forward in his seat. “You must make a good salary to afford a house like this, Dave.”

Dave loosened his tie and popped the top button on his shirt. He needed air. “Actually, I bought this house with my lottery winnings.”

Michael Finn digested that. He sat silent for a moment, then resumed his drumming. “I’m not a gambling man myself.”

“Oh.” Stay calm, Dave told himself. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed. It couldn’t possibly be. “That’s admirable, Mr. Finn. Keeping a tight rein on those vices, huh?”

“I believe in hard work,” Mr. Finn said. “You get something through hard work, and you appreciate it.”

Dave was beginning to better understand Kate. Her father was obviously a man who’d brought himself up through the ranks and was proud of his accomplishments. Because he’d instilled that same work ethic in his daughter, it was difficult for her to respect rewards that were too easily won. And he suspected there had been little room for play in the Finn household. Play would have been equated with goofing off.

“So exactly what sort of job do you have?” Michael Finn asked Dave.

Dave had known it was coming. The old Acme safe. Baboooom! “Well, sir…” It wasn’t that he was ashamed or embarrassed by what he did, Dave thought. It was that no one ever seemed to fully understand. “I don’t exactly have a job.”

“Oh?”

“I guess you could say I’m self-employed.”

Slik ran down the stairs and stopped short at the living room. “Oops. Hello,” he said, obviously surprised to find everyone watching him.

Dave held his breath. Now what? Could it get any worse? “Some friends are doing a little photographic work upstairs,” he told Mr. Finn. “It’s of a technical nature.”