She looked at my face, which was side-lit by the sun. “Do you always wear makeup, Mr. Sherwood, or is this a special occasion?”

I offered what I thought was as good an explanation as she deserved. “I had a little fracas with a librarian who wanted to rearrange my face in alphabetical order. I’m a hard-line Dewey decimal man.” This didn’t play, so I tried being honest. “Truth is, I was over on Treasure Island and I didn’t like what one of the barkers was telling some of the kids. I took issue with him and . . .” I gestured to my face.

She allowed herself a clinical look at my various contusions and obtrusions. “This shouldn’t be too bad by tomorrow. Try and keep some ice against it while you sleep.”

I’ve always been annoyed when receptionists in doctors’ offices act as if they have medical degrees. “Is that your expert opinion?” I said, nodding toward her mock nurse’s uniform.

Her back stiffened. “The fact that I show up at a medical practice dressed appropriately has always indicated my professionalism. I work any day I want for the top doctors and dentists in the area. I’m always on request. The waiting list is mine, not theirs.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Prentice,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Of course you did,” she said. I heard Hewett’s front door open. Her eyes looked beyond me and monitored Russ. “Listen to me now,” she said in a low tone. “It was convenient our meeting this way, because otherwise I was going to have to call you at your hotel. I want to see you tomorrow. I’ll meet you in the Claremont lobby at one o’clock.”

She didn’t ask if it would be convenient for me. “All right,” I agreed, because I couldn’t think what else to say.

“One more thing,” she added hurriedly. “I don’t want you working with my daughter again until after I’ve met with you.”

I heard Russ’s footsteps approaching. “But we’re starting on the arrangement tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t meet with you any sooner, it would be pointless. Tomorrow at one is the earliest it can be. You’re not to do anything with her until then. Hello, Russ,” she said, instantly shifting tone.

Russ had several rolled-up charts under his arm. “Martha, I have to go over these diagrams with the idiots at the commission and they’ll have the usual lame questions, so make something to eat I can warm up when I get home, would you? Shouldn’t be later than seven or eight. Ready, Sherwood?”

There’s a symbol in music indicating a dead stop that the player must observe until he’s directed to continue. In swing parlance, we refer to this symbol as “railroad tracks,” because it’s notated by two parallel slashes in the music.