“Trust me, it's never too early. But all right, one cola-bean juice, coming up pronto. Lemon or lime?”

“Lime.”

He hurried into the kitchen, returned with a tall drink on ice and a glass of white wine for himself. Settling back down, he rested one elbow on a knee, placed his chin in a cupped palm, stared into my eyes.

I said, “So Lauren felt her mother was trying to control her but she didn't say how.”

“And the next day she was going about her business with nary a mention of mama. Truth is, I don't think Mrs. A looms large in her life. She's been on her own for years. And that's absolutely all I can tell you about her family dynamics, so drink up.” He drew out the pocket watch.

“Your friend,” I said.

He flinched. “Yes.”

“Does Lauren have any friends I could talk to?”

“No.”

“No one at all?”

“Not a one. She doesn't date, nor does she chum around with the girls. We're both social isolates, Doctor. Yet another tie that binds.”

“The night owl and the morning lark,” I said.

“Makes for a cozy little aviary— this is absolutely the best living arrangement I've ever had. Lauren's a living doll and I simply insist that she be okay. Now, if you'd like, I can pour that drink into Styrofoam and you can take it to go—”

As charming a dismissal as I'd encountered. Placing the drink on a side table, I stood. “Just a few more questions. Mrs. A said Lauren didn't pack a suitcase.”

“I told her that,” he said. “I know every item in Lauren's wardrobe— She has luscious things. After I moved in I organized her closet. She owns two pieces of luggage— a pair of vintage Samsonites we picked up for a prayer at the Santa Monica flea market— and they're both here. So is her backpack from school. And her books. So she must be planning to return.”

He began to sip wine, stopped himself. “That isn't good, is it? Running off without luggage.”

“Not unless Lauren's the impulsive type.”

“Impulsive as in meet someone hot and fly off to Cuernavaca? That would be nice.” He sounded doubtful.

“But unlikely.”

“Well,” said Salander. “I just don't think that's Lo— If she'd fallen in love, I'd have known. She was a creature of routine: got up, jogged, went to class, studied, went to sleep, got up and did the same thing all over again. To tell the truth, she was a bit of a grind.”

“Strict routine except for occasional weekends away.”

“Except for.”

“She's in between quarters at school,” I said. “What's she been doing with her vacation?”

“Going to work.”

“The research job.”

“A grind,” he said. “She'd spend every spare moment studying if I didn't drag her out to do some antiquing.”

“Must have paid off,” I said. “Mrs. A said she got straight A's.”

“Lo was so proud of that. Showed me her transcript. I thought it was adorable.”