I had a change of socks, but no shoes. My loafers were too wet to put back on. I decided to keep my clean pair of socks for the drive home. I padded back downstairs in my bare feet, going slowly so as not to cut myself on nails or loose edges of linoleum.

My landlady was watching a high-speed chase scene involving Clint Eastwood and a chimpanzee. Her oldest lodger, Sam, was sitting on the couch, drinking a Miller and laughing at the chimp. When Mrs. Polter saw me behind her, she jerked her head at Sam. He stood up obediently, disentangling a couch spring from his threadbare suit.

She waved a hand from me to the couch. It was the only other seat in the room besides her outsize vinyl armchair. I looked at it dubiously. The places where fabric still covered the springs were littered with cracker crumbs. I perched on one of the arms, which wobbled dangerously beneath me.

Mrs. Polter regretfully muted the sound just as Clint and the chimp pushed a second car off the road. I’d certainly rather watch that than talk to me too.

“So you went into the canal, huh?”

“Didn’t your pals tell you? We had quite an evening together. When they tried to use my body as part of the roadway, I decided that she who fights and runs away would live to fight another day.”

“Who tried to run you over?” she muttered, her eyes on the screen.

“Milton Chamfers, Mrs. Polter. You know him: you phoned him as soon as you heard from me, to tell him I was returning to the neighborhood.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do, Mrs. Polter.” I got off the couch arm and snatched the remote device out of her hand. “Why don’t we get back to Clint later? My adventures Friday night were every bit as exciting as his. I promise to describe them in vivid Technicolor if you’ll just listen to me.”

I clicked the power switch and the giant Mitsubishi went blank.

“Hey, you got no call—” she yelled.

“Lily, you okay?” Sam hovered nervously in the doorway. He must have just moved a few steps into the dark hall, ready to leap to her defense.

“Oh, go eat your dinner, Sam. I can take care of her.”

He tried beckoning to her. When she didn’t budge, he sidled into the room and leaned over her chair. “Ron says she’s got a gun. He seen it when she was dressing.”

Mrs. Polter gave a crack of laughter. “So, she’s got a gun. She’d have to have a cannon to cut through my flesh. Don’t worry about it, Sam.”

When he’d disappeared into the gloom again, she eyed me narrowly. “You come here to shoot me?”