When Daraugh learned Moss had invented his class standing in the University of Chicago’s MBA program, he demanded that I go to Pittsburgh to make sure he hadn’t manufactured his previous work history. I didn’t want to do it, but my payments on the Trans Am meant keeping my good customers happy. I agreed to catch an early flight the next day—not at seven, as Daraugh ordered, but eight, which meant getting out of bed at six. That seemed like enough of a sacrifice to me.

I stopped at Mrs. Hellstrom’s on the way home to see how she was making out with Mrs. Frizell’s dogs. She seemed a little flustered; she was trying to get dinner for her grandchildren and didn’t see how she could manage to look after the dogs at the same time.

“I’m going out of town in the morning, but when I get back on Friday I’ll give you a hand,” I heard myself saying. “If you take care of them in the morning I’ll feed them and walk them in the afternoon.”

“Oh, would you? That would be such a relief. Mrs. Frizell is so peculiar, you wouldn’t think she’d care, but we could steal everything she has in the house—not that there’s anything in there I want, mind you—and she wouldn’t notice. But if we didn’t feed her precious poochies she’d probably sue us. It just seems like so much work.”

She gave me the keys we’d found buried in the living room the night before, confident I planned to start my evening shift at once. “Just put the keys through my mail slot when you’re done. I’ll get duplicates made while you’re away and put them in your mailbox. No, maybe I should give them to that nice man that lives downstairs from you. He seems reliable, and I hate to leave someone’s house keys lying around.”

I asked if she knew which hospital Mrs. Frizell was in.

“They took her to Cook County, dear, on account of her not having any insurance—she’d never even signed up for Medicare—it really makes you think, doesn’t it? I don’t know what we’ll do when my man retires. He was thinking of doing it next year. He’ll be fifty-eight, and enough’s enough after a while, but when you see what happens to old people—but anyway, maybe I’ll try to get over to see her tomorrow. You’d think that son of hers—but of course, he didn’t have too easy a time, growing up in that house. Couldn’t wait to leave, and small wonder, when you see how she is. His daddy couldn’t take it, either: scooted a month before he was born.”