Later, she learned from one of the other waitresses that he owned half a dozen apartments in the neighborhood, and was using the diner as a de facto office. Zoey said he had an understanding with Arthur, their manager, so they left him alone, kept him supplied with coffee and his standing order: a poached egg on unbuttered rye toast, bacon crisped but not burned, and a small glass of unsweetened grapefruit juice. He was a great tipper, polite, but somewhat aloof.

She’d been late to work that wiltingly hot morning in August, had survived a tirade from Arthur where he’d threatened to fire her, and was confiding to Zoey about the fact that her roommates were kicking her out, and she had no idea how she’d find an affordable place to live before the end of the month.

“Excuse me,” the customer at table 2 said, when she stopped to refill his coffee. “I uh, overheard you telling your friend that you need a place to stay.”

Letty regarded him warily. She was used to being hit on by customers, but Table Two had never shown any particular interest in her.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “Sucks. I mean, the apartment was a dump, but it’s all I can afford. I was splitting a room with one of the girls, but now her boyfriend is moving in, so they voted me off the island.”

“I might know of a place,” he said slowly. “If you’re interested. It’s in the neighborhood.”

“This neighborhood?” she laughed. “No way I can afford anything around here.”

“You might be surprised,” Table Two said. He pulled a business card from a slender leather portfolio, jotted something on the back, and handed it to her. The address was a building two blocks from the diner.

“The tenant just moved out, and I don’t like my places to stay vacant. It’s bad for business. Let me know if you want to take a look.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate it, but honestly, whatever you’re charging, I can’t afford it.”

“Where are you living now, and what are you paying?”

“Don’t laugh. My share is nine hundred dollars, and it’s a stretch. My credit card is already maxed out.”

“You’d be living alone? No boyfriend in the picture?”

“No,” she said, already regretting the weird turn this conversation was taking.

“Okay, well, I think we could work something out,” Table Two said. “What time do you get off today?”

“After lunch.”

“Just think about it. You’ve got my number. If you want to take a look, I can meet you over there, probably between two and three.”