“Chinese dress. Slit up the side. Oh, it’s very nice,” she said, affecting a little melody in her voice. It was his turn to blush, a bit, while he grinned. With mock gravity he coughed, then thought better of sustaining the mood.

“Listen,” he said, genuinely earnest, “on your husband, they had a list of seventeen parking and minor traffic tickets, which completes what they had here. You say he never got a ticket while you knew him, and the record bears out that he didn’t conceal any from you. I don’t know what such a wacky thing could mean in relation to his death, but we ought to try for an explanation of what it means by itself—if anything. Can we talk about it with your doctor friend?”

“Dr. Roberts? Yes. I don’t know if he’ll have much to say about it. To him, it would only indicate something. He wouldn’t want to make a judgment on the one thing alone. I’ve seen him at work.”

Leland said, “We can say for ourselves that all those tickets would indicate a certain hostility or antisocial attitude. But I want an authoritative opinion. That’s why I want to talk with the doctor.”

“Yes, of course.” She moved her hand toward him nervously. “The tickets shouldn’t be a complete surprise to me, looking at them in those terms. You heard how he treated Mr. Miller—from a distance. He was that way with many, many people. Well, you’ll hear about it at lunch.”

“That’s right,” he said. “That’s what I hope lunch will be all about.” He picked up the telephone again. “One more call, and we can go.” He put his finger on the disconnect button. “This concerns you, too. I have a book from the squadron, a souvenir book that some of the pilots published when the war was over. Whatever your husband did will be in there, the number of missions, any planes he shot down, and so forth. You can read it for yourself.”

“Yes, all right. Thank you.”

He dialed. There was a ring, then a second. At the third he moved to hang up, but the line opened and a small hello could be heard through the office. Leland brought the handset up again, turned toward the bookcase, and rocked back in the chair.

“Hello, Steffie, it’s Daddy. Why are you home from school?”

“I have an upset stomach. Were you trying to get Mommy? She stopped in for coffee, but she just left. How did you know she’d be here?”

“Sometimes she stops off at home before a lunch date. How are you feeling? Are you all right?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “It’s just annoying. She’ll be at the Flamingo for lunch, if you want to go meet her, but she has a woman with her.”