“Did you know her?”

“I met her in the line of duty, so to speak.”

“You want to hear my theory?”

“I can’t prevent you from voicing an opinion.”

“In the two or three years after my parents’ death, my grandmother was hell-bent on gaining custody of me. It’s all in the letters. I’m guessing you were hired to investigate my Aunt Gin in hopes of impugning her parenting ability.”

Hale Brandenberg said nothing. His rag went around and around while he squinted in the manner of a man who’s accustomed to working with a cigarette in one corner of his mouth. His was a type I’d run across before. The rugged outdoor sort. His humor was dry and understated, and his persona had a comforting appeal.

“No comment?” I asked.

“Don’t think so. I understand your interest, but the same principle applies. You want the information, talk to your granny.”

“She’s in her nineties and losing it, from what I hear. I doubt she’d remember what you did for her.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m free to discuss it with you.”

“Mr. Brandenberg, in less than a month, I’ll be thirty-eight years old. I’m not up for adoption so I don’t see what difference it could possibly make if you confirmed what I’ve said.”

He smiled faintly. “The name’s Hale and you have a point. At your age, I’m sure the court would take your wishes into consideration before making a decision about placement.”

“That’s safely nonresponsive. What if I ask about process instead of content?”

“You can try.”

“What happened to the written reports? I’ve got invoices but nothing else.”

“There weren’t any.”

“How so?”

He smiled. “I’d have to cite confidentiality again.”

“Were you supposed to grab me and run?”

“Oh, god no. I wouldn’t have hired out if that was the point.”

I sorted through the invoices. “She paid you close to four thousand dollars.”

“I put in a lot of hours.”

“Doing what?”

He was quiet and I could see him brooding.

I said, “Look. This is all ancient history. There’s nothing at stake. Whatever Grand’s intentions, she couldn’t have succeeded because here I sit.”

He was quiet for a moment more. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Surprised, I said, “Sure. I’d like that.”

I pictured a coffee shop, but Hale had something else in mind. We went into the lobby of an office building three doors down. In one corner, there was a coffee cart, complete with wee containers of half-and-half, sugar packets, stirring sticks, and freshly baked cinnamon buns. He glanced at me. “Have you had lunch?”

“It’s ten A.M.”

He smiled. “How about a sticky bun?”

“Sure, why not? I skipped breakfast this morning along with my three-mile run.”