"Oh, why not?" I said, ever the bon vivant. "This is Lewis Pitts, my landlord's brother. You've met Henry, haven't you?"

"Of course. Cheney Phillips," he said. He rose to his feet and shook hands with Lewis, who said a few pleased-to-meet-you-type things with the usual pleasantries thrown in. I found myself noting the texture of Cheney's hair, springy dark brown curls that looked as soft as a poodle's coat. I'm not a dog lover at heart. Doggies tend to bark their bad breath in my face, preparatory to jumping up and parking their cumbersome paws on my chest. Despite numerous sharp commands, most dogs behave any way they please. There's the occasional exception. The week before, in a rare moment of goodwill, I'd stopped to chat with a woman who was walking a breed I'd never seen before. She introduced me to Chandler, a Portuguese water dog who sat on command and gravely offered to shake hands. The dog was quiet and well mannered with a coat so curly and soft I could hardly keep my hands to myself. Why was I thinking about that now? Having missed the bulk of the conversation, I tuned in as Lewis was saying, "Be right back." It was like waking up in the middle of a TV movie. I had no clear idea what was going on.

As soon as he was gone, I turned to Cheney. "I take it you're here to meet someone."

His attention was focused on faces halfway across the room, his gaze shifting at precise intervals like a corner-mounted camera. He'd been a vice cop for years and he had a letch for hookers and dope dealers the way some guys are fixated on the size of a woman's boobs. His eyes flicked to mine. "Actually, I came in looking for you. I stopped by your apartment and when I didn't find you there, I figured you'd be here."

"I didn't realize I was so predictable."

"Your best trait," he said. His gaze caught on mine again and the effect was unnerving. I glanced at the bar, the front door, anywhere but him. Where was Lewis and what was taking him so long?

Cheney said, "Don't you want to know why I'm here?"

"Sure."

"We have an interest in common."

"Oh, really. And what would that be?"

"Reba Lafferty."

The answer was unexpected and I could feel my head tilt with curiosity. "What's your connection to her?"

"That's why I went to see Priscilla Holloway. I heard someone was driving down to CIW to bring Reba back. I didn't know it was you until I saw you that day."