Tasha said, “Hi, Kinsey. I’m down in Santa Teresa to meet with a client and I was wondering if you’d be available later this afternoon. I have something I think will interest you. It’s roughly noon now, so I’m hoping I’ll hear from you. I’ll be staying at the Beachcomber on Cabana until tomorrow morning.” She recited the number, which I ignored.

I went back to typing notes, but I’d lost my train of thought. I pressed Play and listened to the message again, this time jotting down the number at her hotel. She must have known me better than I thought, because nothing is more irresistible than veiled references to a topic of interest. I couldn’t imagine what she was up to, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I dialed the number and the switchboard put me through to her room. She was out, but a very pleasant automated woman told me that the party I was calling was not available at this time. She invited me to leave a message at the tone and that’s exactly what I did, saying, “Hi, Tasha. Kinsey here. I just got your message and I was hoping to catch you. I’m on my way home, but if you like, we could meet for a drink. Why don’t you join me at Rosie’s on Albanil, where we met before. The desk clerk can give you directions if you’ve forgotten where it is. The place still looks like a dive, so don’t be put off. Five-thirty works for me if it works for you. Hope to see you soon.”

I left the office at 5:00 and was home again at 5:10, stripping off my clothes as I scrambled up the stairs. For someone indifferent to her kin, it’s amazing how hard I work at looking good in their eyes. Since I tend to deal with only one aunt or cousin at a time, I don’t want reports going back to the clan that my boots are scuffed or my hair is sticking out in all directions, as is usually the case. I showered and shampooed. I even shaved the requisite legs and armpits just in case I fell in a swoon and one or the other was exposed to view. How did I know how the evening would proceed?