Resigned to the task, Abel unlocked the gate and rang the bell that entoned deep, resonant chimes. A maid he’d never seen answered the door. This one was around forty, plump, with a broad nose and gold-rimmed front teeth. Lillian didn’t like them young and pretty—for obvious reasons. Lil usually kept in her employ three housekeepers at a time, changing them as often as she did her lipstick color, finding tiny faults with each one. But at least she was nice to them while they worked for her.

“¿La señora está en su casa?” Abel asked.

“Si. ¿Quién es?” she answered.

“Plumber,” Abel said, in English.

The big dark eyes scrutinized Abel. He was used to that. He remained impassive, waiting like hired help, as if time weren’t money.

“Un momento,” she said.

The door closed in his face. It was a beautiful door. Paneled and carved, the lacquer sanded as sleek as fur. He’d done a fine job refinishing it. A half-minute later, Lillian reopened his handiwork.

“I didn’t call any—”

Lillian stopped, a look of panic in her eyes.

Abel said, “You had a plumbing problem, ma’am?”

Her eyes darted from Abel to the maid. In rapid Spanish, she sent the maid away, then stepped outside and closed the door.

At fifty-eight, Lillian Sandler was fighting a losing battle with age. Abel had never seen her without makeup, and he felt embarrassed for her, catching her off-guard like this. Every single wrinkle and sag stood out like bas-relief, shouting that she was overdue for another lift. Her blue eyes were red and watery, her nose was puffy. Abel wondered whether she’d been hitting the sauce again. She was dressed in white sweats, looking a bit chunkier than he remembered, her hair wrapped in a terry-cloth towel.

“I made that call five months ago,” she said. Her voice was soft and furious. “I finally went and called a real plumber.”

“So you have no need of my services….”

“Cut the shit!” Lillian pulled a cigarette and a gold lighter out of her sweats. “You look like shit.”

Abel could have said the same thing about her, but he didn’t.

Lillian lit her cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “So you come waltzing in here five months later and expect me to greet you with open arms. I left messages on your machine for a solid week. Couldn’t you have picked up the goddam phone just once and returned my call?”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Sorry.” Lillian smoked and tapped her foot. “I’ve heard that word enough times in my life.”

“You want to stay out here and rant?” Abel asked. “It’s fine if you do, Lil. I don’t mind standing around while you let off some steam.”

She didn’t answer.