Even a rote emergency takes away the ability to notice other details. I lurked behind a concrete column surrounded by potted plants until I saw the familiar blouse, the large glasses, the awkward stride. Then I came out, smiling like an old friend, my arm quick around her shoulders to guide her to the side, amid some polite blather of conversation. So great to see you. In the middle of this wonderful fire drill. Imagine bumping into you here.

I had her around the corner, behind the column before Nora had a chance to react, to resist. Before anyone else could really notice.

I could tell from the fact she was even there that she didn’t know her husband was dead. Didn’t yet register I was dangerous.

“Don’t shout, don’t scream, don’t do anything but smile and nod. I have a gun. Pointed at you.”

At least Nora didn’t insult me by pretending.

“What do you want?”

A hardness to her features that made me think she’d have been perfectly capable of taking care of a cheating husband herself.

I smiled. “I want your keys to your car and also your car. Which you will not report to the police as stolen.”

“I can’t just—”

“Shut up. Give me the keys.”

“I left the keys in my office.”

“No, you didn’t. No one does that.”

A glare, but also a tiny wobble. A tremble to the lips.

“Or, we can go to the police and I can tell them how you tried to get me killed. Whoever paid you to approach me.”

She tried to take a step back, but I had my hand clamped to her shoulder. She registered, then, that blood on my gloves had smudged onto her blouse.

“Tell them you had a nosebleed.”

Panic leaked into her features. I imagined I’d looked that way, early on. She scrabbled in her purse for the keys, handed them over. I didn’t think so pale a person could get whiter, but she did.

“I didn’t—”

“Is this the man who hired you?” I held out a photo of Langer.

“We’ve got a mortgage. And two kids.”

The two kids again …

“Are you trying to say being dead would be a blessing?”

“No, I…” Shock. Definitely not professional, but I hadn’t thought she was.

“Do you know this man?”

“No. It was over the phone. Cash in the mailbox. I never saw anyone. He said it was a prank.”

A prank? That sounded more like Hellmouth than Langer. But what did I know.

“If he contacts you again, don’t answer. Leave town for a while. Get a ride from somewhere other than the dealership. Maybe a relative.”

The realization of what I was saying blossomed across her face.

“And my husband?”

“No more poker nights,” I said.

But no reply had been necessary. She could tell as soon as she asked.