Frenada took me to a cubbyhole at the rear of the floor, which was protected enough from the floor noise to allow conversation. Fabric samples and patterns festooned the top of a metal desk; production schedules were taped to the door and the sides of an old filing cabinet. The only chair had a motor on it. Frenada leaned against the door; I perched gingerly on the edge of the desk.

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

“You mentioned Tuesday night that something odd was happening at your shop.”

“Do you usually sell your services like this, door to door?”

My cheeks and neck grew warm with embarrassment, but I couldn’t help smiling. “Like encyclopedias, you mean? A reporter I know has been asking questions about your business. And I remembered what you said, so I wanted to see Special–T for myself.”

“What reporter? What kind of questions?”

“Wondering what secrets you were hiding here at Special–T.” I watched him steadily, but he looked only puzzled, and somewhat scornful.

Another freight train began to thunder behind the building, drowning Frenada’s reply. While I waited to be able to hear him, I looked around the office. On his desk, underneath one of the fabric swatches, I saw a glimpse of a slogan I knew from Emily Messenger’s wardrobe: The Mad Virgin Bites.

The train passed, and Frenada said, “Secrets? I can’t afford such things. I thought you meant—but it doesn’t matter. My business runs on a shoestring; if something a little strange happens, then I have to accept it as an act of God.”

“Lacey reassured you when you saw her on Thursday?”

“Did she—who told you—”

“No one. It was a deduction. That’s what I do—get facts and make deductions. They teach it in detective school.” I was babbling, because of the Mad Virgin T–shirt.

Frenada looked around his office and caught sight of the shirt. He got to his feet and moved me toward the door.

“My business has nothing to do with Lacey. Nothing at all. So keep your deductions to yourself, Miss Detective. And now, by another gracious act of God, I have a large order to get out, the largest I have ever been blessed with, the uniforms for a soccer league in New Jersey, which is why you find me here so late at night.” He hustled me out through the shop floor to the metal walkway, waiting until I reached the stairwell landing before he turned back inside.