“It’s a working theory,” Ruth said stiffly, “though not, as it happens, my own.” She bent down to fasten her briefcase against Joe Green’s inquisitive nosing.

“What’s your theory, Ruth?” George asked, leaning forward. “Seriously, what do you think sexual harassment has to do with anything here, and what do you think Esther might have told Rebecca?”

“Well, since you asked so directly,” Ruth said, “and since you both seem to me to be people who want the unvarnished truth of things, I will share with you some of the material in my possession that has raised this rather complicated issue. I have to warn you, it could be somewhat upsetting.”

“So what is it?” Rebecca asked irritably.

“First, tell me please, what did your grandmother ever say to you about Morris Jacobs?” Ruth asked.

“I don’t remember her ever talking about him at all, and I don’t think I ever heard the name, but in your interviews it comes through that she clearly hated him and thought he was a pig. And she saved his obituary. I have that here. So this interests me, and now I want to know why you are asking about him particularly.”

Ruth Zion leaned forward and said in a confiding tone, “I owe a great deal to Jonathan Lipman. A great deal. More than I can ever adequately express.” She sat back, confident that she had just said something profound.

“Who,” George asked, “is Jonathan Lipman?”

“He is the son of Lou Lipman.”

“Oh god,” groaned Rebecca. “Lou Lipman again. Esther thought he was a pain and a half.”

“Is that what she told you? How intriguing! What else did she say about him?” Ruth asked eagerly, pushing the microphone an inch closer to Rebecca.

“Well, she didn’t use those words. Those are my words, obviously. But she found him irritating. She said he was a ragpicker.”

“I see,” Ruth said.

“Is that an insult?” George asked.

“Not necessarily,” said Ruth.

“Kind of,” said Rebecca. “The way she used the word, it was meant to be. Hey, did you know that ragpicker’s disease and woolsorter’s pneumonia are really pretty much the same thing? They’re both actually forms of anthrax infection. This guy I know who’s doing a postdoc in epidemiology told me about a study he’s doing about textile workers, going back into nineteenth-century records in all these little New England mill towns. Of course, he had no idea how hot anthrax studies would be when he picked his topic. He told me he really wanted to do Lewy body dementia. He thinks that’s the new frontier in dementia studies, the connection to Parkinson’s. But meanwhile, he’s been a talking head on CNN a couple of times last week, with all the anthrax excitement.”

“Goodness!” Ruth exclaimed. “Such a worry. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. I have taken to opening all my mail with disposable gloves. It seems prudent. One never knows, does one?”

“The moment or the place,” George said.