“You mean do you want me to hand you a can opener?”

“I can also make some sliced fruit.”

“Slicing fruit doesn’t count as making it.” She sighed. “Alright, look, I’ll fry some falafel burgers. You want one or are you gonna eat meat right in front of me even though you know I’m morally opposed to it and it grosses me out?”

“When you put it that way, it makes me seriously hungry for falafel.”

“You’re lying, but I don’t care.”

++++

Blake had not heard from Mannie since he’d checked in earlier that morning.

He’d sent him to the hilltop overlooking the funeral in order to keep an eye on things through the binoculars.

“What do you want me to look for?” Mannie had asked.

“Anyone we might recognize. And take note of whoever the senator talks to.”

“Especially Reese?”

“Yes. I understand he’s coming in from Phoenix for the funeral. See if you can confirm that.”

“Also Rockwell?”

“Yes. It might be informative if the billionaire shows up.”

“Alright.”

Now Blake tried Mannie’s phone again, but no one answered.

Though his thoughts were mainly on Mannie and the arrival of the canisters within the next couple of days, he’d made a promise to Julianne Springman and he wasn’t about to go back on his word. So he took a little time to review the material he’d gathered for her and then gave her a call.

“I have a name for you,” he said. “All the information you need. I’ll send you an encrypted file. Do you have a secure server?”

“I don’t trust my network. We should meet in person.” She gave him an address—a pub and pizzeria in Brooklyn.

“Why there?”

“I know the place. It doesn’t have any working video cameras.”

He decided that allowing her to choose the location was acceptable. “I can be there at eight.”

“I’ll see you then.”

11

As we ate dinner, Tessa asked me about the case, as she was apt to do: “I know you can’t tell me anything about your investigation, but if you could, what would you say?”

“Pass the ketchup.”

“Right. So’d you find out about the cows?”

For some reason, earlier this week we’d gotten talking about what you call different groups of animals: a herd, flock, school, and so on. Neither of us knew off the top of our heads what you refer to a group of cows as. I’d had to look it up.

“The plural of cow is kine,” I told her. “But actually, twelve or more cows is a flink, so that one’s sort of arbitrary.”

“Huh. Have you heard about crows? It’s an appropriate one; fits in with your job.”

That one I knew. “A murder of crows.”

“Impressive.”

“And a sleuth of bears,” I said. “Another good one for my job.”