“I’ll take good care of you,” she said. It sounded lewd. “Of your feelings,” she added. “I know who you are.” She didn’t know why she said it or even, really, what it meant.

“He just closed his eyes,” she said. “He put his head back and looked so relieved. I kissed him and got up on my knees and held him against my breast. We never did make love. We kissed a little, made ourselves comfortable, and fell asleep. Later we drove home. It was close to dawn. The dampness was in the car.

“The next night we had dinner before my class and afterward he drove me home. He didn’t come up. We were tired. We were teasing ourselves, but it was playful. We wanted to play.”

Leland nodded. There was a lot that she didn’t know—as she had said. MacIver’s tension at the time they met was interesting but probably not meaningful, three years before his death. Two and half years had passed since he had divorced his first wife. Leland would try to learn why tomorrow. Perhaps there would even be something in the insurance files. Leland wanted to know the other women MacIver had seen steadily, regularly, seriously—however one wanted to express that. MacIver had been free the Friday and Saturday nights of the week he had met Norma, and Monday and Tuesday. Leland made a note to get the address of MacIver’s bachelor apartment.