“MR. NATARAJA WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO SPEAK with you,” a cultured male voice informed me through the phone. “However, his schedule is extremely busy for the next month.”

I sighed, tapping my nails on Greg’s kitchen table. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name . . .”

“Charles Cole.”

“I tell you what, Charles, get Rowena on the line for me now, and I won’t tell Nataraja that you’ve tried to stonewall the Order-appointed investigator he’s been waiting for.”

There was silence and then Charles said in a slightly strained voice, “One moment, please.”

I waited by the phone, very pleased with myself. There was a click, and Rowena’s flawless voice said, “Kate, my deepest apologies. What an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

Score one for me. “No offense taken,” I told her. I could afford to be gracious. “I was notified that Nataraja would like to speak to me.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, he’s in the field. If he knew of your intention to visit, he would have postponed. He will be back this evening and I would be indebted to you if you could meet with us later, let’s say at two tonight?”

Score one for Rowena. “No problem.”

“Thank you, Kate,” she said.

We said good-byes and hung up. She had a way of subtly turning every conversation personal, as if the matter discussed was vital to her and any refusal of her request would injure her. It worked both ways—when you agreed to something, she acted as if you did her a great personal favor. It was an art I would have loved to learn. Unfortunately I had neither time nor patience to spare.

Unsure what to do next, I tapped my fingernails on the table. Until I got my interview with Corwin, I could not eliminate him as a suspect and I had no other suspects so far. Maybe if I annoyed Nataraja enough, he would supply me with other leads, but it wouldn’t happen until tonight, which left twelve empty hours. I looked around the apartment. It had lost its immaculate air. There was dust on the windowsill, and several dishes sat in the sink. I pushed myself free of the chair and started looking for the broom, rags, and bleach. Come to think of it, a nap wouldn’t hurt either. I had a long night to look forward to.

When I woke up later in the now clean apartment, the light outside had turned the deep purple of late evening.

Crest hadn’t called. Too bad.

An interesting thought occurred to me while I lay for a few extra precious seconds in my bed, staring out the barred window at the encroaching twilight. I held on to it, padded to the kitchen, and called the Order, hoping Maxine was still there. The phone was turning into my weapon of choice.

Maxine answered.

“Good evening, Kate.”

“Do you always work late?”

“Sometimes.”