“Shipping company. Excellent Portage, only it’s spelled X-L-N-T. There’s XLNT International Shipping. XLNT Courier. Maybe half a dozen other businesses.”

“I see those trucks everywhere,” I said. I thought about the notion of Teddy Xanakis married to a shipping magnate. “You still think she might have been involved in that art-for-ransom scheme? I take it the victim wasn’t her ex.”

“Nope. Someone else, though from what I’ve heard, she’d have enjoyed sticking it to him.”

“Seems unlikely a woman of her social status would steal anything,” I said.

“Let’s not forget she paid you with marked bills.”

“But if she came up with the ransom scheme, why would she sit on the cash for two years?”

“She might have figured it was finally safe to put the money in circulation. Or she might have been hard up for cash.”

“Do you intend to talk to her?”

“Not yet. There’s no point in tipping our hand. If she’s a party to the scheme, let her go on thinking she’s gotten away with it.”

“I’m about to freeze my butt off out here.”

His smile was sheepish. “I’ll let you go.” He stood, all six-plus sweaty feet of him.

I untied the sleeves of my hoodie and zipped myself into it, momentarily warmed. “So what now? I’m not crazy about the idea of Teddy recruiting Christian Satterfield.”

“I’ll bet not. Especially since you were the one who set him up.”

• • •

On my way to work, I stopped off at the bank and moved money from savings to my checking account. My alarm system would go in the next morning and I’d have to write S.O.S. a check as soon as the work was done. I continued to the office and parked in the driveway between my bungalow and the one to the right of mine. As Taryn Sizemore had suggested, I unlocked and opened the door with a sense of trepidation. I didn’t actually believe Ned would return to trash the place, but I paused on the doorstep and braced for it anyway. I sniffed. The air was neutral, and a quick peek at my reception area showed nothing out of place. I peered into my office proper, reassured to see all was in order there as well. Nonetheless, I did a cautious walk-about before I sat down at my desk.

I had no phone messages and the mail that had come in was quickly dispatched. One sorry consequence of being short of work was that any unresolved matter was cause for brooding—Teddy Xanakis being a case in point. Even in retrospect, her long sad tale about giving up her baby seemed just offbeat enough to be true, and while I no longer believed a word of it, I couldn’t imagine why she’d wanted to make contact with Christian Satterfield unless she suffered a pathological compulsion to orchestrate personal makeovers on parolees. He’d certainly benefited from her sense of style and her willingness to spend big bucks. No harm had befallen him in that regard, but why was she doing it?