“Of course it is, and it should be part of everyone’s mission to make life more fair, but getting angry doesn’t solve anything and gives you lines in your face before your time. Now. Yesterday I called the city to ask about dear Ariella, a young lady I wanted to thank for helping me with a problem on my water bill last winter, and was told she’d left. I worked up some tears and was finally told she now works at the Chilson State Bank. Next step is to talk to her.”

I stood and, not for the first time, wished for an extra hand. Two was not enough to talk on the phone and carry both cereal bowl and cat inside. “And ask her what? Hello, nice to meet you, were you out on Ledwich Road last Tuesday speeding? And by the way, did you kill Brown Bernier?”

“You could try that approach,” Tabitha said. “But I don’t recommend it.”

I laughed. “That was a joke. Honest. I’m open for suggestions.”

“You know,” Tabitha said slowly, “I have an idea.”

*   *   *

A few hours later, at lunchtime, Tabitha and I met a block away from the Chilson State Bank. We’d texted back and forth a few times during the morning, fleshing out her plan, which I thought was brilliant.

“We all set?” I asked.

Tabitha, who had looked serene and confident the day before, and who had sounded just as serene and confident that morning, suddenly looked pensive and uncertain. “I don’t know, Minnie. Aren’t we going to be lying? Isn’t that wrong?”

“Yes,” I said. “It is. But along with the life-being-unfair thing, we also have to recognize that to accomplish our goals, we might have to do things we’re not comfortable doing.”

Her blue eyes gave me a long look. “Ends justify the means?”

“Not what I meant.” That way could lead to deep, dark places I didn’t want to peek into. “It’s more like, um, a compromise.”

She smiled. “You’ve thought about this a lot, have you?”

Almost every day. “Are we ready?”

“Possibly not, but here we come!”

The bank was one street back from the core of downtown. It was a relatively new building, all white pillars and reddish brick, and sent out an aura of solidity and permanence. I held one of the two glass doors open for Tabitha, and she marched inside, holding her purse tight in front of her with both hands.

She marched across the lobby’s tile floor, where I popped ahead and held a second interior glass door, and kept marching forward until she reached the closest open teller.

“Hi,” the young woman said. “Can I help you?”

“Perhaps,” Tabitha said. “I want to talk to Ariella Tice. They said she works here.”