I didn’t have enough data to make up a believable story. I gave up trying, and took the El back to my office. Elton Grainger was out front, hawking Streetwise. He didn’t recognize me at first. But when he realized I’d been in a fire, he was all sympathy.

“And a nun got killed, you say? Oh, Vic, I don’t have a TV, I don’t see the news. That’s terrible. No wonder you haven’t been around. How’s that cute cousin of yours?”

“Cute as ever.” I tried not to grind my teeth. “Anyone been coming around looking for me while I’ve been away?”

“I haven’t been looking. But I’ll put out a guest book. Anyone comes up to the door, they got to sign in with me.”

He parodied a hotel doorman, and I had to laugh. Of course it was idiotic to think Elton would pay attention to anyone scouting out my office. I typed in the code on the door lock and went inside, keeping a hand on the handle of my gun in its tuck holster.

When I was inside, I searched the office, from the cot to the bathroom I shared with my sculpting lease-mate, but no one was there. I answered a few e-mails. But I had reached the end of my stamina, and set out for home.

When I got there, I found Petra out in the backyard with the dogs. Mr. Contreras had his barbecue going. She was sitting on the grass with her arms around Mitch, who acknowledged my arrival by lifting his head to look at me. Peppy, at least, came over to meet me.

“Poor Peewee is beat.They got her working too hard,” Mr. Contreras announced. “We’re doing burgers and corn. You want some?”

I accepted gratefully, and went upstairs for wine and a salad, leaving my hat and gloves. I brought some cushions down with me and stretched out on the grass, where I could see my cousin’s face. She looked pinched and anxious. But when she saw me studying her, she tried to grin in her usual enthusiastic fashion.

“I’m pretty beat myself, first day back on the job. I had to go to the Prudential Plaza this afternoon, and I finally got a look at Les Strangwell.”

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?” Petra asked, a little breathless.

“Not about you, not about anything. Guy has freaky eyes, don’t you think?”

She shivered but didn’t say anything.

“Petra, are you in trouble at work?”

Mr. Contreras frowned and started to protest, but he caught my little headshake and was silent.

“No, no! Why should I be in trouble? I do whatever they tell me to, and faster than a speeding bullet.”

“You just seemed jumpy on the phone today. And you’re definitely not your usual high-voltage self tonight.”