“Maybe. If I live long enough.” He laughed and went to the refrigerator. He rummaged around and found some bologna and cheese for a sandwich. He opened a beer and started for the living room. “I think I’ll watch the news for a while and then go shower and change,” he said.

“I put clean clothes out for you on the bed. You might shave, too. You have a hideous five o’clock shadow.”

“Good God, who’s coming to dinner—Prince Philip and Jackie Onassis?”

“I just want you to look nice, that’s all.”

At 7:05, the doorbell rang, and Brody answered it. He was wearing a blue madras shirt, blue uniform slacks, and black cordovans. He felt crisp and clean. Spiffy, Ellen had said. But when he opened the door for Hooper, he felt, if not rumpled, at least outclassed. Hooper wore bell-bottom blue-jeans, Weejun loafers with no socks, and a red Lacoste shirt with an alligator on the breast. It was the uniform of the young and rich in Amity.

“Hi,” said Brody. “Come in.”

“Hi,” said Hooper. He extended his hand, and Brody shook it.

Ellen came out of the kitchen. She was wearing a long batik skirt, slippers, and a blue silk blouse. She wore the string of cultured pearls Brody had given her as a wedding present. “Matthew,” she said. “I’m glad you could come.”

“I’m glad you asked me,” Hooper said, shaking Ellen’s hand. “I’m sorry I don’t look more respectable, but I didn’t bring anything down with me but working clothes. All I can say for them is that they’re clean.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Ellen. “You look wonderful. The red goes beautifully with your tan and your hair.”

Hooper laughed. He turned and said to Brody, “Do you mind if I give Ellen something?”

“What do you mean?” Brody said. He thought to himself, Give her what? A kiss? A box of chocolates? A punch in the nose?

“A present. It’s nothing, really. Just something I picked up.”

“No, I don’t mind,” said Brody, still perplexed that the question should have been asked.

Hooper dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small package wrapped in tissue. He handed it to Ellen. “For the hostess,” he said, “to make up for my grubby clothes.”

Ellen tittered and carefully unwrapped the paper. Inside was what seemed to be a charm, or perhaps a necklace pendant, an inch or so across. “It’s lovely,” she said. “What is it?”

“It’s a shark tooth,” said Hooper. “A tiger-shark tooth, to be more specific. The casing’s silver.”

“Where did you get it?”

“In Macao. I passed through there a couple of years ago on a project. There was a little back-street store, where an even littler Chinese man spent his whole life polishing shark teeth and molding the silver caps to hold the rings. I couldn’t resist them.”

“Macao,” said Ellen. “I don’t think I could place Macao on a map if I had to. It must have been fascinating.”