“Was it a friend?” Michael asked.

“Was who a friend?”

“The deceased,” Michael said.

Laurie let out a little mirthless laugh. “Hardly,” she said.

“I know what you mean,” Michael said, looking at Laurie in the rearview mirror. “Relationships today are very complicated. And I’ll tell you why it is…”

Laurie smiled as she settled back to listen. She loved philosophical taxi drivers, and Michael was a regular Plato of his profession.

When the cab pulled up outside Laurie’s building, Laurie saw a familiar figure in the foyer. It was Lou Soldano slouched over against the mailboxes, clutching a bottle of wine in a straw basket. Laurie paid Michael the fare along with a generous tip, then hurried inside.

“I’m sorry,” Laurie offered. “I thought you were going to call before you came over.”

Lou blinked as if he’d been asleep. “I did,” he said, after a brief coughing spree. “I got your answering machine. So I left the message that I was on my way.”

Laurie glanced at her watch as she unlocked the inner door. She’d only been gone for a little over an hour, which was what she’d expected.

“I thought you were only going to work for another half hour,” Lou said.

“I wasn’t working,” Laurie said, as she called for the elevator. “I took a trip out to the Spoletto Funeral Home.”

Lou frowned.

“Now don’t give me extra grief,” Laurie said as they boarded the elevator.

“So what did you find? Franconi lying in state?” Lou asked sarcastically.

“I’m not going to tell you a thing if you’re going to act that way,” Laurie complained.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Lou said.

“I didn’t find anything,” Laurie admitted. “The body I went to see was no longer on view. The family had cut it off at six P.M.”

The elevator opened. While Laurie struggled with her locks, Lou curtsied for Debra Engler, whose door opened against its chain as usual.

“But the director acted a little suspicious,” Laurie said. “At least I think he did.”

“How so?” Lou asked as they entered Laurie’s apartment. Tom came running out of the bedroom to purr and rub against Laurie’s leg.

Laurie put her briefcase on the small half moon–shaped hall console table in order to bend down to scratch Tom vigorously behind his ear.

“He was perspiring while I was talking with him,” Laurie said.

Lou paused with his coat half off. “Is that all?” he asked. “The man was perspiring?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Laurie said. She knew what Lou was thinking; it was written all over his face.

“Did he start perspiring after you asked him difficult and incriminating questions about Franconi’s body?” Lou asked. “Or was he perspiring before you began talking with him?”

“Before,” Laurie admitted.

Lou rolled his eyes. “Whoa! Another Sherlock Holmes incarnate,” he said. “Maybe you should take over my job. I don’t have your powers of intuition and inductive reasoning!”

“You promised not to give me grief,” Laurie said.

“I never promised,” Lou said.