I got up and went over and shook her hand. The handshake was firm and dry and poised, and she looked at me with a clear confidence that she could meet my every banking need. No wedding ring. Up close, and with the sunglasses off, you saw that she was the woman in the video, yet not. It was the face, yet not the same face. As if she had stepped into the transmogrifier with Calvin and Hobbes and had been changed. Her voice was lower and there was a light network of lines around her eyes and she looked better now than she had then, the way most women do as they move into their thirties. I said, “I hope so. I’m going to be moving to the area, and I’d like to discuss financing for the purchase of a home.”

She opened the gate and gave me a warm, professional smile. “Why don’t we go back to my office and talk about it.”

“Sure.”

Her office was neat and modern, with a polished executive’s desk and well-tended green plants and comfortable chairs in which people with legitimate business could sit and look at her. A Toshiba My Café coffee machine sat on a lowboy filing cabinet between a couple of smoked-glass windows that looked out on the parking lot, and on the wall behind her desk there were framed photographs and certificates and diplomas. Official-looking men and women were standing with Karen in the photos, and in some of them the official-looking people were presenting Karen with what looked like plaques and citations. Some of the citations were on the wall. Greater New England Banking and Trust Award. PTA Meritorious Service Award. Appreciation Award from the Five-Town Area Rotary. A framed real estate license hung beneath a diploma from the State University of New York for a bachelor’s degree in finance. Gee, Peter, do I havta? It had been awarded two years ago. I blinked at her and maybe smiled a little. It had been a long time since she’d made herself up like a waitress. She said, “Would you like coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

She went around and sat behind the desk and folded her hands and smiled at me. “All right. How can I help you?”

I got up and closed the door.

She said, “You don’t have to do that.”

I left the door closed and went back to my seat. “It’s better if it’s closed,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ve come to you under false pretenses.”

She made a small frown, wondering what I was talking about.

I said, “I’m not moving to the area, and I don’t want to finance a house. I’m a private investigator. From Los Angeles.”