When half a minute went by without a response, I knocked.

Shortly afterward, Edna opened the door and peered out at me. “Yes?”

I held up the bag. “The items you asked for. Receipt’s in the bag.”

“Thank you,” she said as she took it. “Tell Henry how much I appreciate his kindness. He’s considerate of others.”

“How’s Joseph feeling?”

For a fraction of a second, her look was blank, and then she caught herself. “Better. I fixed him a bowl of soup and now he’s having a rest.”

“Good to hear.” I expected mention of reimbursement, but it didn’t seem to occur to her. When she moved to close the front door, I caught it by the edge.

“You want to pay him in cash or write a check?”

She dropped her gaze. I wondered what I’d have seen if she’d continued to make eye contact. She smiled with her lips together, creating a dimple in each cheek. The effect was curious. Malice surfaced and then disappeared.

“You didn’t tell me how much it was,” she murmured, as though the fault were mine.

“Receipt’s in there if you want to take a look.”

“Of course. If you’ll wait, I’ll find my pocketbook.”

She took the bag and retreated, leaving the door ajar. I could hear her steps receding on the hardwood floor. When she returned minutes later, she handed me a twenty-dollar bill and a five. No change and no receipt, which meant I couldn’t call her on the fact that she’d shorted Henry by sixty-six cents.

• • •

On my way back to the studio, I saw McClaskey and Henry seated at his kitchen table with their heads bent together. I was fuming about Edna’s mistreatment of Henry, but if I brought it to his attention, he’d wave the matter aside. Sixty-six cents was minor. He’d never make a fuss about something so insignificant, and he’d never believe she’d acted out of spite that was actually directed at me. He was good-natured and generous. As is true of many such souls, he assumed others operated out of the same good will that motivated him.

I could feel the office beckon. Lately, I’ve noticed an impulse to retreat to a place where I feel competent. Though I was reluctant to admit it, in addition to being annoyed with Edna, I was irritated with Ruth. I had a hypothesis that made perfect sense, and she wasn’t buying it. It was obvious someone was sniffing around the edges of her life. Of course, I had no proof it was Ned Lowe. I’d debunked “George Dayton’s” phony claim, but neither of us knew who he really was or why he’d gone to such lengths. Beyond that, I had no support for my suspicions about the junk man. It meant little that his phone was not in service. His business might be seasonal, and undercapitalized at that. He was a citizen with a big truck and a willingness to dirty his hands.