With the humidity down pretty low, I was having a very good hair day, my shoulder-length tresses filled with body and none of the frizz. I wore a sleeveless fire engine–red dress that had a loose crossover bodice and plunging neckline. Because Koby was six-one-and-a-half in bare feet, whenever we went someplace nice, I wore heels that put me close to six even. When I stood up, he gawked at me and swallowed hard.

“Maybe he eyes you because you are so beautiful.” He exhaled and shook his head. “Sometimes I must pinch myself.”

I bent over, giving him a view, then kissed the top of his head. “I’ll do that for you. Excuse me.”

I took the opportunity to reapply my makeup. I liked looking good for him. Upon returning, I had a full view of the table—three 50-plus couples, and yes, the men did look like lawyers. In fact, they probably were. I knew for certain that the lone black man was.

Raymond Paxton—David Tyler’s conservator.

I had called him three times in the past several weeks and all I ever got was voice mail. The first two times, I just wanted to know if he had heard from David. The third time, I told him I was looking for David in my off-hours. I gave him names of shelters I had been to, explaining that I didn’t want him to plow old ground, should he happen to be looking for David as well.

Not even the courtesy of a follow-up call from a secretary. Not that he was required to answer me, but it would have been polite. He saw me heading toward his table and stood up, excusing himself before I could intrude on his party. We met halfway between our tables and found a corner at the busy bar. I sat; he didn’t. I expected hostility. Instead, I got an immediate apology.

“I’m sure you’ve been busy.” I kept my face expressionless, although I maintained eye contact. Typical cop stare. I didn’t know if we got it from TV or vice versa. Paxton wore khaki pants, white shirt, red tie, and blue blazer. Very preppy. I wondered if he had attended an Ivy.

He said, “It takes two minutes to make a phone call. I didn’t call back because I didn’t trust you.”

My shrug was noncommittal.

“I couldn’t figure out what your game plan was,” he told me. “I still don’t know.”

“I’m looking for David Tyler.”

“Yes, but why?”

I actually gave the inquiry some thought. “I don’t know, Mr. Paxton. I suppose it’s because in life I’ve been given a great deal and he’s been given a raw deal.”

Paxton looked down. “His trust fund is significant. The first couple of months he was gone, I hired a private detective, you know.”

“I didn’t know. You never told me.”

“The man was a con artist.”

“That’s too bad.”

“My own fault. I didn’t do my homework. Since you seem to be on some sort of mission with David, I could give you money for your time and expenses. But you’ll have to make it official. I’ll need a written report of your progress.”