My neighbor started talking to me as soon as his head cleared the last turn and he caught sight of me. “Oh, hi there, cookie. You have a good rest? I’m just coming to pick up her highness here, get her some air, a little food. You weren’t feeding her cheese, were you? I meant to tell you—she can’t tolerate it.”

He came into the room and started inspecting Peppy for signs of illness. “You don’t want to go walking her alone, now, nor going off by yourself on one of your runs. And don’t let this young guy here keep you going past when you’ve got yourself worn out. And you want any help with anything, me and the dog’ll be at the ready; you just give us a holler.”

With this thinly veiled warning, he collected Peppy. He hovered at the door with more admonitions until I finally thrust him gently onto the landing.

Kappelman looked at me sourly. “If I’d known the old man was going to investigate my character, I’d’ve brought my own attorney along. I’d say you were safe if you kept him with you—anyone attacks you he’ll talk them to death.”

“He just likes to imagine I’m sixteen and he’s both my parents,” I said with more indulgence than I felt. Owing my life to Mr. Contreras didn’t keep me from finding him a little wearing.

I offered Kappelman a drink. His first choice was beer, which I rarely have in the house, followed by bourbon. I finally unearthed a bottle of that from the back of my liquor cupboard.

“An old South Sider like you ought to be ready with a shot and a beer,” he grumbled.

“I guess it’s just one more sign of how much I’ve abandoned my roots.” I took him into the living room, folding up the blanket I’d left on the couch so he could sit there. My place was never going to be the equal of his Pullman showcase, but at least it was neat. I didn’t get any compliments, but then he couldn’t be expected to know how it usually looked.

After a few polite nothings about my health and his day, I handed Nancy’s packet to him. He pulled a pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his shabby jacket and carefully went through the document a page at a time. I sipped my whiskey and read the day’s papers, trying not to fidget.

When he’d finished he put his glasses away with a little gesture of puzzled helplessness. “I don’t know why Nance had these. Or why she thought they might have been important.”

I gritted my teeth. “Don’t tell me they’re completely meaningless.”

“I don’t know.” He hunched a shoulder. “You can see what they are as easily as I can. I don’t know that much about insurance, but it looks as though Xerxes might have been paying more than these other guys and Jurshak was trying to persuade the company”—he looked at the document searching for the name—“Mariners Rest to lower their rates. It obviously meant something to Nancy, but it sure doesn’t to me. Sorry.”