"But when we first talked, didn't you say he was depositing the money offshore so he could hide it from his wife?"

"That's the story he gave me. I didn't figure out what he was really doing until the audit came up. I'm sure he's still funneling cash out of the country as fast as he can, but at least I get it now; his efforts were never meant to benefit me."

"I'm sorry. I know that's tough on you."

"Tough, but true," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

At 9:00, just about on the dot, Marty Blumberg appeared. Reba had been watching for him, and she gave him a big wave and motioned him over the minute he walked in. He paused at the bar to light a cigarette. The bartender was already setting up his usual drink, whiskey so dark it looked like Coke. Glass in hand, he ambled over to our table. He was probably in his fifties, a good-looking guy once upon a time. Now he was overweight by a good hundred pounds, his wardrobe lagging one size behind. His trouser pockets bulged open like a set of ears and the buttons on his shirt were straining against his bulk. He was baby-faced and florid, with sorrowful-looking blue eyes, a pug nose, and a full head of dark frizzy hair. He seemed genuinely glad to see her. Reba invited him to join us, hooking a thumb in my direction by way of introduction. "This is Kinsey Millhone. Marty Blumberg," she said.

I said, "Hi, Marty. Nice to meet you," and the two of us shook hands.

Marty gave Reba a quick visual appraisal. "You're none the worse for wear. When'd you get back?"

"Monday. Kinsey drove down and brought me back. The whole experience was an education... in what, I don't know."

"I'll bet."

"I hear you're in the new offices. Nice to be so close. Dale's was always your favorite."

Marty smiled. "I've only been coming in the past fourteen years. I could be part owner with all the money I've spent."

Reba took out a cigarette and Marty picked up her Dunhill and extended a light. Reba tucked a strand of hair behind one ear as she bent to the flame, her hand resting casually on his. She inhaled, her eyes closing briefly. Smoking was like prayer, something you approached with reverence. "Beck says the offices are awesome."

"Pretty slick," he said.

"Coming from you, that's high praise. How about a tour? Beck said he'd show me around, but he's in Panama."

"A tour? Sure, why not? Give me a call and we'll set it up."

"How about tonight? As long as we're down here, it would be a hoot." He hesitated. "I could do that, I guess. I need to pick up my briefcase anyway and clean off my desk."