With my hat on and my coat over my sleeve, I stepped onto an elevator, and when I stepped off, I just about ran headlong into Sheila, the curvy redheaded hostess from Pete’s Chophouse.

You might figure she wouldn’t look as good this time of morning, making a hospital visit, and it’s true the fluorescent lighting wasn’t as flattering as the low-key illumination at the supper club. But the green-eyed beauty—in a denim jacket, pink sweater and jeans today—had the same lovely face with the Bardot mouth, now with blush on her cheeks and watermelon eye shadow to make her seem younger and more in tune with her generation’s style than last night’s green evening dress when she was playing hostess to dinosaurs like me.

One touch remained the same: she still had flesh-colored makeup applied to hide that shiner some son of a bitch gave her.

“Mike!” she said.

“Sheila. Am I that frightening?”

She smiled, laughed a little. “No, it’s just…always funny to run into somebody in another context, y’know? I never saw you anywhere but Pete’s. Or in the paper or on the TV news.”

I gave her half a smile. “I know what you mean. For example, I’ve known you for several years, but I never caught your last name.”

“It’s Ryan.” She gestured down the hall. “Are you here to…?”

Nodding, I said, “Stop by to see how Mr. Colby’s doing. I saw that hit-and-run go down, y’know. I take it that’s why you’re here?”

“It is.”

I gestured to a nearby nook where a patient’s relatives and friends could sit and wait and read ancient magazines. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

We shared a two-seater couch.

I asked, “How’s the patient doing?”

She shrugged. “A little groggy from the meds, but I think he’s doing all right. A doctor’s in with him now. You’re a friend of Vincent’s?”

“Not really. Just met him last night. He stopped by our booth to say hello to Casey Shannon, who we were throwing a little retirement party for, as you probably picked up on.”

“Oh yes, the ‘Wall Street Cop.’” Her eyes narrowed. “Is he some kind of financial expert or something?”

“Hell no, just a copper who worked that part of town and, in so doing, got to know some of the Stock Market crowd.” I gave her the whole smile now, but didn’t push it. “I’m going to ask you a nosy, none-of-my-business question.”

Her head bobbed back and her smile got just a little wary. “You are, huh?”

I shrugged. “I’m a professional snooper by trade. You know that. And I witnessed a crime last night. So I can’t help myself. I get interested.”

Sheila returned the shrug. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you two an item, Ms. Ryan?”

She shook her head. “No, we’re just…friendly acquaintances?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No, of course not. I just meant…I know him from the restaurant. He’s a patron, a frequent one.” Her shrug only involved one shoulder. “He’s good-looking, very smooth, charming, and he likes to joke around with me. Just a fun flirt. Nothing more.”