“I’m glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Braden, because there’s something you need to understand about me. I didn’t grow up on a horse farm in Virginia—I grew up in a dying little factory town north of Pittsburgh. I don’t have stature or bearing or ‘length of bone’—whatever that is. I’m a little too tall and my arms are too long; I’ve got big feet and bad eyes; I pick my clothes at random and I have to wear glasses the size of portholes. I don’t have any breeding at all, Mrs. Braden. I’m all substance— that’s all there is to me. So if you need somebody to create the right appearance for you, you’d better fire me too—but if you want this thing figured out, I’m your man.”

Victoria smiled. “Why, Dr. Polchak—you don’t sound flustered anymore.”

“I guess I’ve grown comfortable in the presence of beauty.”

“Congratulations. Most men never do.”

She glanced down at the papers covering her desk and Nick took the hint. He walked to the door and then stopped and looked back. “You know, there’s another strange thing about beauty.”

“What’s that?”

“Human beings associate it with goodness. Have you noticed that? The wicked stepmother is ugly, but Cinderella is a knockout. Why do you suppose they do that?”

“I’ll bet you have a theory.”

“I do. I think they’re hoping to find substance behind the appearance. But that’s just my theory. Who knows? Our species does some very strange things.”

Riddick looked down at the bouquet of velvety pink roses that he clutched in his left hand. He spread the stems apart a little and picked off a wilted petal. He smoothed back his hair with his right hand, lifting the coal black comma from his forehead momentarily before it dangled back down again. He straightened his shirt collar, stepped into the doorway, and rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame.

Victoria Braden looked up from her desk.

“I got these from the garden,” Riddick said. “I thought you might like them.”

Victoria gave the roses the barest glance and returned to her work. “I hope those weren’t the floribundas—we’ve got a garden reception for the DAR coming up, you know.”

“Want me to put them in a vase for you?”

“Just leave them in the kitchen—I need the desk space in here.”

Riddick took a step into the room. “Have you got a minute?”

She looked at him impatiently. “Is it important, Chris? I’ve got a lot on my plate today, and people seem to keep dropping by.”

“It’s important to me.” Without waiting to be invited he took the seat directly across from her desk and settled in.

Victoria rose from her own chair and walked around to the front of the desk, as if to say, “Don’t get comfortable.”