Mr. Contreras was sitting in the easy chair in my living room. Facing him, on the couch, were Buffalo Bill Bysen and his personal assistant, Mildred. Even at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, she wore heavy makeup. Mr. Contreras looked up at me with the same guilt-filled defiance that the dogs use when they’ve been digging up the yard.

“So that’s why there’s a Bentley out there on Belmont: waiting for the head of one of the biggest companies in the world, and he came to visit me.” I rubbed my hands together in a display of fake heartiness. “It’s delightful that you were able to drop in, but I’m afraid I’m going to bed. Help yourself to the liquor cabinet, and keep the music down—the neighbors are picky.”

I went to the front door to tell Morrell that the coast wasn’t exactly clear but it was okay to come in.

“I’m sorry, doll,” Mr. Contreras followed me out. “When they showed up and said they needed to see you, well, you’re always telling me not to butt in, so I didn’t like to tell them ‘no,’ case you’d arranged it; you didn’t want me knowing your plans or nothing today.”

I bared my teeth at him in an evil grin. “How thoughtful of you. How long have they been here?”

“About an hour, maybe a little longer.”

“I have a cell phone, you know, and I’ve given you the number.”

“Do you mind?” Mildred came out to the hall to join us. “Mr. Bysen’s day starts early tomorrow. We need to get this over with so we can return to Barrington.”

“Of course you do. Morrell, this is Mildred—I’m afraid I don’t know her last name—she’s Buffalo Bill Bysen’s factotum. Mildred, this is Morrell. He doesn’t like to use his first name.”

Morrell held out a hand, but Mildred only nodded perfunctorily and turned to lead us back into my apartment.

“Mildred and Buffalo Bill have been sitting in the living room for an hour,” I said to Morrell. “Mr. Contreras let them in, thinking it was an emergency when they showed up uninvited, and now they’re very cross that we didn’t use ESP to drop everything and rush home to look after them.”

“His name to you is Mr. Bysen,” Mildred said through tight lips. “If you treat all your clients this rudely, I’m surprised you have any.”

I looked at her thoughtfully. “Are you a client, Mildred? Or is Buffalo Bill? I don’t remember you hiring me. I don’t remember giving you my home address, either.”

“Mister Bysen,” she said with heavy emphasis, “will explain what he needs you to do.”

When we were all back inside, I introduced Bysen to Morrell, and offered refreshments.