“Was ‘Sharon Stone’ her real name?”

“Yes and no. Mostly yes. Her name was officially Mary Sharon Stone. After the huge success of Basic Instinct, she had a makeover—changed her hair from brown to blond, dropped the ‘Mary,’ and promoted the remarkable new persona. Mother was a promotional genius. She even got the idea of running photos of herself on billboards, sitting with her legs crossed in a short skirt, à la the famous scene in the film.”

Gurney indicated to Kim that he had no more questions.

Stone added with an unsettling smile, “Mother had legs to die for.”

An hour later Gurney pulled in next to Kim’s Miata in front of the bleak strip-mall office of an accounting firm: Bickers, Mellani, and Flemm. It was situated between a yoga studio and a travel agency on the outskirts of Middletown.

Kim was on her cell phone. Gurney sat back and mused on what he would do if his name were Flemm. Would he change it, or would he wear it as a badge of defiance? Was the refusal to change one’s name, when the name was as patently absurd as a donkey tattoo on one’s forehead, laudably honest or stupidly stubborn? At what point did pride become dysfunctional?

Christ, why am I occupying my brain with this nonsense?

A sharp little rap and Kim’s purposeful face at his side window brought him back to the moment. He got out of his car and followed her into the office.

The front door opened into an unimpressive waiting area with a few unmatched chairs against one wall. Worn copies of SmartMoney were fanned out on a small Danish Modern coffee table. A waist-high barrier separated this area from a smaller area that contained two bare desks in front of a wall with a single door, which was closed. Atop the barrier was an old-fashioned bell—a little silver dome that had a raised plunger on the top.

Kim tapped firmly on the plunger, producing a surprisingly loud ding. She repeated this half a minute later, with no response. As she was reaching for her phone, the door in the rear wall opened. The man in the doorway was thin, pale, tired-looking. He gazed at them without curiosity.

“Mr. Mellani?” said Kim.

“Yes.” His voice was dry and colorless.

“I’m Kim Corazon.”

“Yes.”

“We spoke on the phone? About my coming here to prepare for our interview?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well …” She looked around in mild confusion. “Where would you like to …?”

“Oh. Yes. You can come into my office.” He stepped back inside.