“Really, dear. That would be lovely.”

Bettina followed me through the gate and around to the rear where I unlocked my front door and ushered her in. My studio’s perpetually tidy, so I wasn’t worried about disgracing myself with dirty dishes in the sink. I worried I was out of tea bags and my milk would be old enough to smell like spit-up. I suggested she use the downstairs bathroom to “freshen up,” which is old-people talk for pissing like a race-horse after a long drive.

Once the door closed behind her, I scampered into the kitchen to check on my supply of tea bags. As I opened the cupboard door, a little white moth flew out, which was either an evil omen or evidence of bugs. I opened the tea canister and discovered I had three tea bags left. A quick look in the refrigerator revealed that I was out of milk altogether, but I did have a lemon, the juice of which I’d intended to mix with baking soda to clean the inside of a plastic storage container that was dark with tomato stains. This was a tip from my Aunt Gin, who was famous for household remedies with little or no application to problems in the real world.

I filled the kettle and set it on the stove, turned on the burner under it, and sliced the lemon. I got out cups and saucers, placing a tea bag and a paper napkin neatly beside each cup. When Bettina emerged we sat down and had tea together before returning to the subject at hand. By then I was reconciled to handing over the album, which was sitting on my desk. I had no real claim to it and from what she’d said, my returning it was as good as saving her life. That issue out of the way, I thought I might as well pump her for information.

I said, “What happens when you put the album back? Won’t Grand smell a rat?”

“I have that all worked out. I can tuck it under the bed or in the little trunk she keeps in the closet. I might even leave it someplace obvious and let everyone assume it was right there under her nose. There’s a short story about that.”

“ ‘The Purloined Letter.’ Edgar Allan Poe,” I said.

“That’s right.”

“I’m still stumped about why she sent it in the first place.”

Bettina made a gesture, waving the question aside. “She got a bug in her ear. When she comes up with one of her notions, you’d better do as you’re told. She hates to be thwarted and she refuses to explain. Once she issues an order, you’d better hop to it if you know what’s good for you. Not meaning to give offense, but she’s a hellion.”

“So I’ve heard. Why do you put up with her?”