“I think that would be a very bad choice.”

A different waiter arrived with Kenzie’s martini. “Are you ready to order?” he said.

“I asked for water,” Ted said, moving the chair again to ensure he couldn’t be seen. He was still reeling. There could no longer be any doubt—Jackie had deliberately defrauded Barbara Miller in order to provide those properties to LBC. It was not coincidence that had placed her here with the young Reisner. She was a major coconspirator.

“We could use menus,” Kenzie said.

The waiter shrugged. Ted thought this must have been part of their training for the job. “Sorry,” the waiter said, though he managed to convey that he wasn’t in the slightest. “You want to see the wine list?”

“Yes,” Ted said. “It’ll give us something to read while we wait.”

Kenzie took a sip of her martini. “Too much vermouth.”

“Send it back.”

“No, I’ll never get another.”

A thirtysomething Latino in a white tunic plunked down two glasses and a pitcher of water. Ted smiled his thanks. The man filled the two glasses and produced menus from under his arm.

“What’s your recommendation?” Kenzie asked him. “Porterhouse or the rib eye?”

“No sé,” the man said, before racing away.

“I guess he’s not our waiter either,” she said.

“What’s going on?” Ted asked.

“Now, that’s interesting. Your friend Cheryl is sitting next to the lawyer. Jackie.”

“Cheryl is not my friend. Neither is Jackie. Jacqueline.”

“Jacqueline. Okay.” She took another sip. It seemed to go down easier than the first. “So, the three men are talking. Laughing. The old guy is telling a story now. The hottie is wondering why nobody is looking at her.”

Ted risked another look. Cheryl and Jackie were chatting together like old friends. This was not their first meeting, or second, or third. Ted tried to fit this new information into what he already knew but felt his foundation shifting and tilting. He turned away before he got caught staring.

Kenzie continued to report. “And now the asshole maître d’ is stopping by to pay his respects. It’s all positively medieval. Prince Reisner is giving him the two-handed shake. And. Wait for it. Yes! Reisner flashes a bankroll the size of Jackie’s briefcase, peels off a bill, and tucks it in the guy’s breast pocket.”

“You’re enjoying hating this place,” Ted said.

“Did you ever eat at that Bahá’í place near the courthouse?”

“I don’t know it.”

“The food’s simple. Nutritious. Tastes good but nothing fancy. But the women who work there are about the nicest folks you’d ever want to know. They’re nice to everybody.”

“I think I’d hate it. What’s going on over there now?”

“A tray of drinks. The waiter and the old guy are talking. He’s ordering for the table.”