"Rosie doesn't chat with Lewis. Why would she talk to him? She barely talks to me."

"William, then. He could have mentioned it in passing."

"I see you're determined to protect her."

"All I'm doing is injecting a note of reality. No one's plotting behind your back. Well, Lewis, maybe, but not Mattie. "You know better."

"You're implying I'm paranoid, but this is not my imagination. Mat-tie's intention was to come for breakfast and then drive straight home. Lewis suggested something off the top of his head and now she's delaying her return. Yes or no?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Let's not argue. I don't think there's anything afoot, but you do, so let's drop the subject. My only point... well, I don't even know what my only point is. My only point is don't give up on her. And that's all I'm going to say."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my kitchen and my little-old-lady ways."

I went to the office and locked myself in. Truly, it was more restful to ponder crime than human beings in love. Here I was trying to talk Henry into the very thing I was trying to talk Reba out of, and neither one would listen. Then again, why would they? I've bungled every relationship I've ever been in so it's not like my advice is worth much.

I opened the window in hopes of creating a little cross-ventilation. The thermometer outside on the window frame read 74 degrees. It felt hotter than that to me. I sat down, put my feet up on the desk, and rocked back in my swivel chair. I studied my surroundings with a sense of discontent. The windows were so dingy I could hardly see out. Grime on the windowsill. Dust on my fake plant. My desk was covered with junk and the trash can was filled to capacity. I still had boxes I hadn't unpacked since I moved in and that was five months ago. What a slattern I was.

I got up and went into my tiny kitchen, where I scrounged under the sink for a bucket, a sponge, and a quart of virulent yellow liquid that resembled toxic waste. I spent the morning scrubbing surfaces, vacuuming, dusting, shining, polishing, unpacking, and putting things away. By noon, while I was hot, tired, and sweaty, my mood had improved. But not for long.

There was a knock on the door. I opened it to find a courier standing on my doorstep with an envelope in hand. I signed for it and opened it, pulling out a check from Nord for $1,250 in response to the invoice I'd sent him the day before. The handwritten note that accompanied the payment indicated the $250 bonus was for a job well done.