“I swear,” she said. “That didn’t even register with us, we were just trying to cover our—to stay out of a mess. We’re sorry, okay? And we never connected it to him—that bastard. Why would we? He came across like a dummy. Even now, you can’t prove he had anything to do with it—that our data was even corrupted.”

“A five-word match, Suki? Cohibas.”

“What I said, another girl shared.”

Milo and I didn’t speak.

“Okay,” she said. “It could also have been a glitch.”

He said, “What kind of glitch?”

“Programming errors, it happens, we fix them. But really, it could’ve been another girl. Maybe they traded.”

“Like baseball cards,” said Milo. “Hey, here’s an idea for a spin-off: Daddy and Sweetie cards, collect them all, kids.”

“Whatever.”

“ ‘Gee, Tara, I was surfing with my username and password and just happened to come across this rich old dude who has a thing for Cuban cigars and I thought, hey, that’s perfect for you, you love rich old dudes who stink of tobacco and talk about karma, here you go, honey. And once you get your very own username and password you can return the favor—and, oh yeah, homegirl, here’s four other words you can stick in your profile to form a mathematically improbable coincidence because I ran a careful word-search in order to maximize your success.’ ” He slapped his cheek. “ ‘Oops. You lost your face.’ ”

Suki Agajanian’s eyes filled with tears. “I said I was sorry.”

“Then how about you channel all that remorse into action, Suki. As in no more delays and legal bullshit and you tell us the address Stefan gave when he applied for his ten-day job.”

“Of course, no problem.” Click. “Here it is.” She printed a single sheet.

The same defunct mail-drop Connie Longellos had given to Muhrmann’s landlord.

Milo said, “Where’s the rest of his job application?”

“That’s it, I promise. I know it looks skimpy but we were working day and night to accomplish the important things, didn’t have time to get all official with him—and like I said, he was barely here.”

“How’d you find him in the first place?”

“He found us,” she said. Leftward eye slide. Her lips vibrated. She’d never pass muster as a psychopath.

“How’d he find you?”

“Slipped his name and number under the door with a note saying he was looking for office work. He said he’d interviewed downstairs, someone told him we needed a gofer.”

“Who downstairs?”

“I don’t know.”

“You never verified.”

“We were busy. We thought we needed help. Once we got set up and he was already gone, we learned the computers could do everything a person could do except better. That’s the beauty of eBiz, you keep overhead to a minimum.”