“I guess I like the country most. But I can appreciate what the city has to offer.”

“I remember VE Day. That was something, Mr. Fox. Every stranger you met was your new best friend. Never kissed so many men in my life. I remember thinking when I went to bed the next day, there was no place I’d rather be on a day like that, celebrating a thing like that.” I pause. “Of course, you were out in the Pacific, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

I don’t often curse myself, but I curse myself then. A Japanese prison camp, that’s what Uncle Charlie said, though not even Ruth Macallister dares ask him for certain. I find myself wondering, out of the blue, where Iris was on VE Day. She must have been in Europe itself, some embassy or another. I suppose they celebrated, all right. She and Sasha.

A handkerchief appears before me. “Here,” says Fox, and it’s only then that I realize I’m crying.

“I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“I figured.”

We walk on to my apartment building, another block down on the corner of East Fifty-Sixth Street. The doorman doesn’t look at all surprised to see me. He trades a glance with Fox that looks like a question, and Fox makes the absolute briefest negative shake of his head.

I proffer the handkerchief. “Thanks for the loan.”

“Keep it.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

He takes back the handkerchief, and in that instant I regret insisting. It seems so pointlessly rude.

“Why were you tailing me?” I ask.

“It’s my job.”

“To make sure I’m not in secret communication with my sister, maybe?”

“Something like that. But also to demonstrate, if I can, that you don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m on your side. I’m on hers. She’s not in any trouble with us, not if I can help it.”

He says this sincerely, and I don’t for a moment imagine he could be lying. I’m not saying my instincts about people are never wrong, but they’re only wrong if some prejudice on my part interferes with their natural operation. My instinct about Sumner Fox is that he’s a straight shooter. If I were going to trust any FBI man, I would trust him.

But I’m not going to trust an FBI man. I know what I know, after all.

“I appreciate the lift home, Mr. Fox. I do hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

“Not at all. Take some aspirin and get some rest. And try not to worry so much about your sister.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“You did.” He tips his hat and steps back. “We’ll find her, never fear. Good night, Miss Macallister. You’ve still got my card, if you hear anything?”

I pat my pocketbook. “Right here.”