“… the extra bedroom in case y’all have company coming for the holidays …”

“Do you have a big family yourself, Mrs. Darling?”

She turned her whole body toward him. “Why, yes I do, Mr. Russo. I’ve got three boys. Tab Junior, Larry, and my baby, Joey? My sisters—there are five of us Rose girls—my maiden name is Rose, did I mention that?—every one of them has three boys, except Caroline. She’s the baby, but she’s getting married—” She stopped so suddenly that Rivera would have run into her if Tony hadn’t put out a restraining hand.

“I do hope I’ve got the right keys here. Ivy House it should say on the tag, but I’ve left my reading— Mr. Russo, would you be so kind?”

When Tony assured her that she had the right keys and Harriet had set off again, Rivera hung back. She took Angie’s arm and squeezed it hard enough to make her yelp.

“He’ll get us tossed out of here before we’ve shot anything,” she said.

Angie watched Tony, his head inclined toward Harriet’s puffed and sculpted hair. There was a familiar expression on his face: Tony on the scent.

Angie said, “She’s married.”

Rivera smirked. “Exactly. May I remind you—”

“Please don’t.” Angie pushed out a long sigh. “I’ll talk to him.”

It turned out that Ivy House really was the best Ogilvie had to offer. Ten big rooms, including a kitchen the size of Angie’s apartment in Hoboken, and attached to it was a screened porch that looked over a back lawn that stretched all the way to the river. There were five bedrooms, a basement, two bathrooms with big old-fashioned bathtubs. It had been reserved for a math professor from Vienna with a wife and four children.

“But the poor man took a heart attack two weeks ago and the doctors don’t want him to travel?” Harriet was leaning against the kitchen counter as she told Tony the story of how Tied to the Tracks had come into possession of Ivy House. “I wish him well, I surely do, but let me tell you we were in a quandary about where to put y’all. If it wasn’t rude I’d have to send him a thank-you note for staying away.”

“There’s a banana tree,” Rivera called from the screened porch. “In the backyard. A banana tree, and a palm.”

It was all very southern, which delighted Tony and Rivera both. Lemon and pecan trees, Spanish moss on the oaks that lined the river, ceiling fans.

“What about scuppernongs?” Tony asked Harriet Darling. “I’ve always wondered. What is a scuppernong, exactly?”