Ted understood right away. Their last conversation. He had told Jill to ask Jackie where she had been the night before. “She didn’t mention any of the other players?”

“Should she have?”

“There was a city councilman and a banker for the Russian mob.”

“I would be in no way surprised that my wife meets with politicians. She was in Albany last week. The firm is giving her new opportunities.”

“I repeat—Russian mob.”

“You called this person a banker. She met with a politician, a banker, and a real estate developer. That’s her job. Once upon a time, you would have been at that table.”

Ted couldn’t deny it. “She passed a bribe to the councilman’s assistant.” He’d never been asked to do anything like that. He wanted to think he would have refused.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “It was a campaign contribution.”

“You’re saying it was legit?”

A pair of pigeons landed on the window ledge and began cooing at each other in full throat.

“Oh, God,” Jill said, stomping to the window and banging on it with her fist. “Get a room, you two.” She turned to Ted. “They make me nuts.”

The birds separated and marched to opposite ends of the ledge, muttering unhappily.

“‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” Ted said. “Dick Powell.”

“William Shakespeare,” she snapped.

“Him too.”

The cooing started up again. While Jill had her back to the window, the two feathered lovers had returned to stage center.

“Shit!” Jill unlocked the casement window and tried to turn the ancient crank. The handle didn’t move. “Here. You do it.” She stepped away and stared at Ted until he rose.

“Okay, but this doesn’t count toward my fifteen minutes.”

The windows had been installed long before Jill had taken up residence. The mechanism froze up regularly and had to be coaxed into operation. Ted tried the crank. It didn’t move. The bigger pigeon—easily identified as the male by his self-adulating poses—strutted the length of the ledge. The female stared at Ted.

“It’s going to need some . . . lubrication,” Ted said.

Jill didn’t respond.

“Really,” he said. “Is there any 3-in-One in the house?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How about cooking oil?”

“Olive oil?” she asked, turning and heading for the kitchen.

The male bird tried to mount the female, but with a twitch and a shuffle step right, she unseated him, never taking her eyes off Ted.

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” Ted called to her.

“Wait for Jacqueline to come home!” she yelled.

He waited until she returned with the olive oil. “I think she’s in trouble, Jill. Serious trouble. Jail-time trouble.”

“Not possible.” She handed him two paper towels with the bottle of oil.

“No? Because she’s too honest? She’s ambitious.”

“That’s not a crime.”