Her flip-flops made little thwacking noises on the sidewalk as they walked toward the intersection. The homeless man had disappeared, but now there was a man on a bike cutting through the alley near Leigh’s car.

“You always park in the alley at night?” Brandon asked.

“Only when I show up in the afternoon and all the meters are full. You didn’t answer my question.”

They stopped at the intersection. A delivery truck roared by, giving Brandon another few seconds to come up with an answer. He’d driven by Leigh’s office on the off chance that she was working late. He hadn’t really planned what he wanted to say to her.

“You’ve been poking around my case,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Poking?”

“Digging. Meddling. Whatever you want to call it.”

The light changed, and they crossed the street. The restaurant glowed like a lantern on the corner, and the other nearby businesses looked to be closed for the night.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t call it meddling.” She neared the door, and he reached around her to open it.

Warm air wafted out as they stepped inside. The restaurant smelled like fried spring rolls, and Brandon’s mouth began to water. A row of red vinyl booths lined the wall, all empty. Looked like they did a lot of carryout, though, and the Formica counter beside the cash register was filled with paper bags, each with a receipt stapled to the top.

“Am I early?” Leigh asked the woman behind the register.

Thin and fiftyish, the woman looked Brandon over before picking up a paper bag. “No, you’re ready.”

Leigh turned to Brandon. “What about you? If you order the special, it shouldn’t take long.”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Leigh stuffed some bills into the tip jar beside the register and took the bag. “Thanks, Su.”

“Come back soon.”

“I will.”

The spring roll aroma followed them out, and Brandon’s stomach rumbled. They hurried across the street as the crosswalk light counted down to zero.

“Investigating,” Leigh said, resuming their conversation. “Not meddling.”

“What for?”

“Because. Vanessa’s my client. I need to understand what’s going on with her.”

Like Vanessa’s sister, Leigh was using the present tense. Brandon noticed things like that. When someone talked about a missing person in the past tense, he noticed that, too.

They reached the law firm again, and Brandon followed her up the steps. Without a word, she handed him the warm sack of food and unlocked the door.

As opposed to Brandon’s last visit, the place was deserted. No harried-looking paralegals or smiling receptionist. Leigh flipped the latch on the door and jerked her head toward the hallway.

“I’m back here,” she said, leading him down the corridor.

“Do you work late a lot?”

“Couple nights a week, usually. I’ve got a trial coming up.”