“So that’s a no then,” Moss said, preparing to slide out of the booth.

“It’s not a no, Mr. Moss. I’m simply telling you what I’ll be up against, so you don’t piss your pants when I tell you I want a hundred grand up front as a retainer. And there are no refunds in my line of work. If I fail to get you the information you want, it won’t be because I didn’t try my best, it will be because of the Secret Service and federal agents. That’s why my fee is so high. Take it or leave it, and I do not haggle.”

Moss whipped out his checkbook so fast one could be excused for thinking that he was making a profitable investment in a sure-thing acquisition. He scribbled off a check and didn’t bat an eye. “Gunter,” Moss said, using the detective’s first name again to show how serious he was, “I want to remind you that you have failed me twice. First with my wife, then with the woman who started this whole mess. Keep in mind that I can ruin you if I want to. Because of your ineptness, I’ve had to write off that young woman. I want you to pay attention now. I want solid confirmation by the close of business today that my wife is definitely accompanying Director Sparrow to the First Lady’s gala at the Four Seasons on Saturday evening. Once I have that information, I will know better how I will proceed. Can you guarantee me this information by the close of business today?” Moss didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until Wolf nodded.

He watched as Gunter Wolf popped the rest of his breakfast sandwich into his mouth and dabbed his thin lips with one of the tiny paper napkins that were in a stainless-steel holder on every table.

The terms were agreed upon, and the meeting was now over.

Lincoln Moss left the diner without another word. He wondered if he had just paid for a pig in a poke.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

“You’re early this morning, Annie,” Myra observed, looking at the kitchen clock, which indicated that the time was ten after seven.

“Blame it on Fergus, Myra. For some ungodly reason he said that he told Charles he’d be here at seven. So you have to put up with me, or I could turn around and go back home. What’s for breakfast?”

“Toast or Pop-Tarts, take your pick.”

“I suppose I have to make it myself, eh?”

“That’s how it usually works. The butter is soft, and the jam is room temperature. Does that help?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Is it going to be one of those days, Myra?”