"I'm Tess." But others know me as the Emasculator.

She bided her time, patient now, letting him natter on through a long rest period and then his final set, all the while dropping little hints about the things that made him such a great catch. Oh, he was clever enough to weave it into a narrative, an unnecessarily complicated story about how he hated taking his Range Rover to the ballpark, but it wasn't so bad when you parked in the season ticket holders lot, loved them O's, but didn't eat ballpark food, unless it was at the Camden Club, usually went Dalesio's afterwards. None of this was offered as an invitation-Tess could tell he hadn't decided if she was worthy-but she would have the essential information if he decided he didn't have a better prospect for tonight's game.

Finally done, he wiped his nonexistent sweat from the seat in a show of courtliness, then pulled the pin out from the seventy-pound mark.

"Where you want this? I know you gals don't like to bulk up too much."

"Oh, I don't know," Tess said carelessly. "I'm not feeling at my peak today…how about 120?"

He laughed, as if this were a wonderful joke, and put the pin where she had asked. With an impassive, bored expression, Tess hopped into the seat and ripped off a set, swiftly, but with good form. Her new friend, now perched on the leg press, paused when he saw where Tess had left the pin. She could tell he was loathe to choose a lighter weight, yet didn't want to get on and find he couldn't lift what she had lifted.

"I guess I'm done, anyway," he said.

Not quite. "The man in the wheelchair?" Tess said as he started to walk away.

"Yeah?"

"That's my boyfriend."

Now he was done.

Tess told Tyner most of the story over lunch, editing out the parts about him. Although Tyner claimed indifference to the idiots of the world, she couldn't imagine that the other man's careless statements wouldn't hurt.

They were at the Point, the run-down tavern owned by her Uncle Spike. It was never clear whether the tavern was simply a front for Spike's bookie operation, or whether this was what kept body and soul together when gambling was slow. June was a slow time for both businesses-basketball and Pimlico winding down, football far away and baseball a sucker bet. To entice people into the bar, Spike had started offering free peanuts in large, shallow-bottomed barrels. But his assistant, Tommy, refused to sweep the floor every night and it was now impossible to walk through the Point without making a constant, crunching sound and raising little clouds of peanut dust around your ankles.

"I'm sure your secret life as the Emasculator keeps you quite busy," Tyner said, "but I'm more interested in how your real work is going."

"It was going fine until someone pried my door open with a crowbar last night. They didn't take anything, but I have a feeling break-ins are going to be a constant worry in my location." "So it was a junkie?"

"You want some more peanuts?" Tess walked over to the nearest barrel, grabbed two fistfuls, and brought them back to the table, dropping them with a great clattering noise.

"Have you ever noticed how, in every batch of peanuts you eat, there's one that's almost perfect?" she asked, opening a triple pod. "It's roasted a little darker than the rest, has an almost piquant flavor. So you eat dozens more, looking for one that has that same strong, roasted flavor and instead, you find one that's acrid and shriveled, which cancels out the perfect one, so you eat dozens more, trying to regain your equilibrium, and next thing you know you have peanut belly, all swollen and bloated, and you still haven't found that elusive, perfect peanut."

Tyner wasn't the type to be distracted by a monologue on peanuts.

"It wasn't junkies, was it?"

"No," Tess admitted, sighing out loud. "I think someone went into my computer and made a copy of a file. There was paper in the tray, and I never leave it out. I feed it into the printer as I need it."

"Which file was copied?"

"Can't tell, but I assume it was Beale's. He was sitting there when I arrived, said he happened on the scene. Suspicious, I know, but why would he steal his own file? He's entitled to what's in it. Then again, it can't be Jackie. The only person who knows I'm working for Jackie is Jackie."

"As far as you know."

"Yeah, but why would she lie?"

"I haven't a clue, but the one thing we know is that she lied before, right? I mean, even if she had a reason for her elaborate Mary Browne charade, she does lie, and she lies well." Tyner brushed the peanut shells and meal to the floor. "What do you know about the baby's father?"

"Long gone and long forgotten, some guy from the neighborhood. Didn't want to be a father and signed away paternity. Jackie hasn't seen him for years."

"She says."

"Again, why wouldn't she tell the truth about that?"

"I don't know why anyone does anything," Tyner said. "My job is to remind you the universe of possibilities is large. Don't take anything for granted, Tess. Someone printed a file out of your computer. There are two files there, Beale's and Jackie's. Beale was sitting in your office when you arrived, declaring his innocence before anyone accused him of anything. Strange, very strange. Jackie has lied to you at least once. Who knows if she lied to you about the baby's father, if there's someone else out there who wants to find the little girl." He thought for a moment. "Do you keep your gun in the office?"

"Yes, in the safe. It was still there."

"You have a license to carry. Maybe you ought to take advantage of it."

"Oh Tyner, that's so paranoid."

"I'd just feel better about you on Butchers Hill if I knew your gun was a little handier. What are you going to do if you walk in on the burglars next time? Say, ‘Excuse me, I just have to get something out of the safe, and then I'll be right with you.' If it is a druggie, you'll need to act swiftly. They're not rational, they might kill you out of sheer stupidity."

Tess didn't say anything, just kept picking through the pile, still intent on finding that perfect peanut.

Chapter 11

On Sunday morning, Tess started her Treasure hunt.

Although it was on the hot side, she decided to walk, because that's how Treasure would move through the city, heading west to Beans and Bread, then back east to wherever he was squatting near Butchers Hill.

The Beans and Bread soup kitchen was only a few blocks from her own apartment. Now housed in a former synagogue, the Catholic mission had started in a tiny storefront closer to the water, just around the corner from where Tess now lived. But poverty was one of the few businesses in Baltimore that had never known a slow season, and Beans and Bread had long ago outgrown that small space.

Still, Tess wasn't prepared to see almost fifty men and women waiting outside Beans and Bread's doors at 11 a.m. on a Sunday. A broad-shouldered man in mirrored sunglasses stood with his back to the door, murmuring into a walkie-talkie. Occasionally, the door would open a crack, a woman would lean out and whisper to him and the doorman would then shout numbers to the crowd. Five to ten people would present tickets and be admitted inside. The scene was not unlike one of those New York clubs of the moment, although those waiting here were more polite.

"You can't bring your dog in here, sister." The doorman's voice was firm, but kind. "I'll watch him while you eat, if you like. We've got about a thirty-minute wait right now."

"I'm not here for a meal. I'm trying to find someone who comes around here, though, a kid named Treasure Teeter."

"Treasure Teeter?" The mirrored sunglasses stayed focused on the crowd. "Doesn't sound familiar, but I don't know all the names. Sister Eleanor would probably know him, but she's not here today. Can it wait until tomorrow?"