It took him a beat to realize who Mrs. Dodd meant. Eve being here seemed so out of context. Keegan switched on the fluorescent lights overhead; the tall downtown buildings made for gloomy afternoons of shadow and smog. He slid the window back up and then opened the inner office door. Out in the waiting area, Eve sat at the dead center of the big leather sofa. She held a black clutch on her knees with both hands. The dog was sniffing at her ankles, but Eve seemed not to notice her at all. When Eve saw Keegan, she rose and smiled at him nervously, biting her lower lip.

Mrs. Dodd had already smoothed the canvas cover over her typewriter and had drawn the outer office blinds for the day. Who knew how early she’d been going home while Keegan was out of the office? She stood now with her back to the desk, leaning in, waiting to see what Keegan expected from her.

“Give us a few minutes?” Keegan asked her. He nodded down at the dog. “And keep an eye on this one?”

Keegan ushered Eve into the inner office and gestured for her to take one of the two oak chairs that faced his desk. He went around the desk to his own, and it groaned when he sat down. What the hell was she doing there?

Eve was dressed in a different outfit than the one she’d had on that morning: she now wore a butterfly-print blouse and a pleated tweed skirt—nothing glamorous, but probably hand-tailored at some shop that required an appointment. She seemed adept at choosing clothes that spoke of both plainness and privilege. She set her clutch on the empty chair next to her, crossed her legs and flattened down her skirt.

“Social or professional?” Keegan asked. “This meeting, I mean.”

“Professional,” Eve told him. “I’d like to hire you. Or at least ask you for advice.”

She folded her small hands in her lap and pivoted so her knees pointed off to one side, a pose suitable for a portrait in oils. Her easy elegance made Keegan a little self-conscious. What might she see in his spartan office, with its clunky steel desk, its bare walls and its dusty oscillating fan perched atop the row of beige file cabinets?

Eve smiled at him, but it seemed forced. “Mrs. Dodd was not what I was expecting,” she told him. “I thought all private eyes had blonde bombshells for receptionists.”

“Only in the movies,” Keegan said. He pulled open a desk drawer and stirred about for his new box of ballpoints. “Who would you guess my average client is?” He found a loose Bic and slid the drawer shut.