I just drove for a few blocks and let everything in my mind drift. I felt a bit out of sync with something I couldn't place and still under the weather. Maybe I had the famous flu RC had gone on about. Frowning, I headed back to the office. It wasn't a solution to the problem of Cameron Shadley, but all I could think of was to call this Philip Stakis and try to make some ground on that case while I could.

No further depredations had been attempted on my office and no shady characters lurked in the alley or my hallway. I flopped into my desk chair and tried the phone number I'd got from Mrs. Ingstrom. No answer, no voice mail. I would try again after six. I typed up my notes, poked around my computer a bit, then checked my messages.

"Hi, Harper, it's Mara." She sounded more Irish than usual and rather hesitant. "I'm after wanting to mend our row this morning. I've been more the head teacher than the friend, I'm afraid. Anyhow, the little one's at Granna's and Ben and I were hoping you'd come for dinner this evening. A nice, grown-ups' evening with no dirty nappies. I do hope you can come."

Interesting. I couldn't say I was angry at Mara. It wasn't her fault I'd freaked. OK, yes, she pushed, but… what could I expect?

I looked at the phone and thought a while. Stanford-Davis hadn't called and none of my other messages included dinner invites. I wanted to talk to the Danzigers, anyway. I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Mara?" I checked.

"Harper! I'm so glad you called. Did you get my message?"

"Umm… yeah, I did. Look. This morning… sucked, but it's not your fault. And dinner would be nice."

She let out her breath. "Good. Food will be ready about six or six thirty. Ben's on for lecture until five and I thought—that is, I was hoping you might come just a touch early so you and I could get in a chat before Ben's oratorical powers are fully recharged. Sound all right?"

"Fine," I answered. "Should I bring a bottle of wine or something?"

"Ooo, that would be lovely!"

"Red, white… green?"

She whooped her wild laugh. "Green sounds brilliant! But I'd settle for white or a nice light red. OK?"

"OK. I'll probably get there between four and five."

"Grand! We'll see you then. Bye."

And so I found myself on the hook for a bottle of green wine. I was trying to imagine where I could find some when the phone rang.

"Harper Blaine."

A deliberate, East Coast voice replied. "This is Ella with Stanford-Davis. You wanted to know about one of our lessees?"

"Yes. Are you Mr. Foster's secretary?"

She sniffed. "I'm his assistant." My back went up. "I want you to know that while commercial leases aren't confidential, I'm not required to give you this information. I called Mr. Foster about this and he told me to go ahead."

I disciplined my bristle. "Thank you, Ella. I appreciate it. Could you tell me who the lessee is?"

"Mr. Foster doesn't like this sort of thing, you know. This is not part of our usual policy."

"I understand," I said and then clammed up.

The silence dragged a moment or five.

"It's TPM," Ella admitted.

"Is there a specific name on the lease?"

"No. It's a corporate lease, signed by their legal representative."

TPM is a private corporation with fingers in a lot of local pies. They also have political connections that go back a long time. I got no other details from her, so I thanked Ella and hung up. Then I sat and thought dark thoughts about famous wrestling matches with TPM from which their opponents had staggered counting their remaining limbs and thankful for retaining their lives.

Time dwindled as I banged on the implications of TPM.

I jumped in surprise when someone knocked and entered my office. My pager wiggled and the light under my desk flickered. I jerked my head up and looked at the doorway. Quinton was standing there, grinning at me.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself. The alarm works—you just set it off."

"Good thing, too. I just came to drop off my bill, like you suggested," he said, brandishing a torn piece of computer fanfold. He thrust it toward me and I leaned forward to take it. "If it didn't work, you wouldn't be so interested in paying me."

"Thanks," I said, glancing at the page. "Quinton, this doesn't look right."

"What, billed too high for parts?"

"No. This seems sort of low, considering all the work you did."

"You're complaining? The parts were cheap."

"You only billed fifty bucks for labor. I think you spent a little more than the two hours you've got here."

"I spent about an hour here and some time on the program at home."

"It only took you an hour to write the program?"

He shrugged. "It's not as elegant as you think. Mostly I just cut and pasted from programs I'd already developed. Besides, now I've got another routine I can plug into someone else's program down the line. It's paid development time."

I pulled out my calculator. "Let's see here…. parts plus actual time on-site, plus development time, plus consultation…"

"What consultation? Will work for food, you know. You bought dinner."

"OK, but you still shorted yourself by sixty bucks."

"Call it an introductory offer."

I shook my head. "I don't like to end up behind favors."

"Investment in the Bank of Karma?" Quinton….

He flipped his hands up. "Hey, look, I like you. I don't mind doing a little work for friends, cheap. I wouldn't feel right about charging you more." He hesitated. "Unless you want me to charge you a business rate."

I felt like a fool. "Umm… is this the 'just friends' rate, then?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah."

"Will you take a check?"

He looked a little uncomfortable. "I prefer cash."

I looked at him sideways a moment and he stared right back.

I shrugged. "OK, but we'll have to go down to my bank."

He grinned and shrugged.

We went. The manager looked a bit askance at Quinton, but didn't say anything. Flush with cash, Quinton headed off for the main library while I went back to the Rover and headed for home for a quick wash and brush-up.

I put on a skirt, blouse, and heels, for a change. I felt much better than I had in the morning, if a bit tired. I played with Chaos for a while and gave her a chance to shed on my clothes until I had to leave. I put her back into her cage with her food dish under her nose, and she hardly noticed.

I stopped at an upscale grocery in Queen Anne. The clerk restocking the wine department actually knew something about the subject and managed to find a wine that was, he assured me, pale green and not bad. I broke down and bought a backup bottle of Chardonnay as well.

Mara opened to my ring of the doorbell. Once again, her hands were floured and she still looked stunning.

Chapter 16

"Oh, you're as good as your word, aren't you?" she exclaimed, seeing the wine bag in my hand. "I hope you don't mind the kitchen for a bit, I'm still rolling out crust and I hate to yell at my guests just to have a conversation. I felt I should be making a pie, since you missed the last one." We adjourned to the kitchen, Mara in the lead. "Have a seat, open the wine and we can have a sip while I finish up the crust. Corkscrew's in the drawer of the table, glasses right there on top."

I hung my purse and jacket over the back of a chair and tackled the first wine bottle. With the wine poured and distributed, I leaned against the counter and watched her drape pastry dough into a deep pie plate and cut off the edge.

She started to sip her wine, then held it away, staring at it. "Oh, my! This is green wine. Wherever did you find green wine?" "Larry's. It doesn't seem too bad."

She sipped, then glanced at me out of the corners of her slanted eyes. "It's wicked green, though, isn't it?" Then she let out that wild whoop of laughter, her eyes squeezing to merry slits.