She looked at it and then shook her head. “No. I don’t even like whiskey.”

I reached forward and picked it up. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

I poured the contents into my mouth and sucked on them for a while before letting the whiskey drip down my throat. “I talk too much,” I said. “But this certainly helps.”

She shook her head. “All right. You’re right. I did suspect what he was like. But I was afraid to leave him. Afraid of what he might do. In the beginning it was just a bit of fun. I was bored here. Max introduced me to people I’d only ever read about. Frank Sinatra. Nat King Cole. Can you imagine it?” She nodded. “You’re right. And what you said. I had it coming.”

“We all make mistakes. God knows, I’ve made a few myself.” There was a pack of cigarettes on top of her clothes in the suitcase. I picked them up. “Do you mind? I’ve given up. But I could use a smoke.”

“Help yourself.”

I lit it quickly and sent some smoke down my hatch to go after the whiskey.

“Where will you go?”

“The States. To Rhode Island and Brown University, like my mother wanted. I suppose.”

“What about the singing?”

“I suppose Max told you that, did he?”

“As a matter of fact, he did. He seemed to think very highly of your talents.”

Dinah smiled sadly. “I can’t sing,” she said. “Although Max seemed to think I could. I don’t know why. I suppose he thought the best of me in all respects, including that one. But I can’t sing, and I can’t act. For a while it was fun pretending that any of that might be possible. But in my heart of hearts I knew it was all pie in the sky.”

A car came up the drive. I looked out of the open window and saw the Pontiac pull up next to the Oldsmobile. The doors opened, and a man and a woman got out. They weren’t dressed for the beach, but that was where they had been, all right, and you didn’t need to be a detective to know it. With Alfredo López, the sand was mostly on his knees and on his elbows; with Noreen it was almost everywhere else. They didn’t see me. They were too busy grinning at each other and dusting themselves off as they sauntered up the steps to the front door. Her smile faltered a little as she caught sight of me in the window. Perhaps she blushed. Maybe.

I went into the hall and met them as they came through the front door. By now the grins on their faces had turned to guilt, but it had nothing to do with the death of Max Reles. Of that much I was certain.

“Bernie,” she said awkwardly. “What a lovely surprise.”