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by silence is abhorred both by nature and myself, and I felt the urge to stuff it full of conversational tidbits, such as, "Do you like your boss," or, "Where do you shop?" Or why did he need to hire a private investigator? I was saved from foot-in-mouth disease by the wrenching open of the mayor's office door, and at the sudden sound I nearly sloshed coffee onto my lap. His Honorableness was no longer in such a congenial mood, it would seem.
    "Ah, Mrs. Brownsby," Mayor Jeremiah Greenberg said. "I am sure that you will forgive me, but I do need to go out and speak with one of my constituents." He closed the door to his office, his bulky shape effectively cutting off my line of sight. "Perhaps we can reschedule for another day." This was a statement, not a request, and I felt my hackles rise. I detest being ordered about, something that Gregory has learned not to do.
    "I can do that for you, Mrs. Browning, if you'd like," Ms. Wentworth interjected smoothly, drawing an appointment book toward her and opening it to a fresh page. "Would you like to check your schedule first?" Her eyes were non-committal, but I felt a frisson of something lurking beneath her words—was she trying to convey a message?
    "Oh, yes indeed," I agreed hastily, reaching down into my oversized bag and pulling out my rather battered notebook. I made a show of flipping through its pages as if in consultation then looked up. "I'm free tomorrow or the next day," I said, for once controlling my blushes. I am not a good liar, and my complexion tends to give me away.
    "Ah." Ms. Wentworth bent her head over the appointment book and wrote rapidly, adding what I assumed to be my name. I had no idea which day or time I was to make my appearance, and I had a hunch that it really didn't matter. Apparently His Lordship didn't think so either.
    "Well, then." He set his bulk in motion and began his rolling gait toward the main door, already having dismissed me as flotsam in his wake. I waited until he had closed the door behind him before I spoke.
    "Ms. Wentworth," I began. And stopped. I had no idea of what I wanted to say, or ask, and I wished, not for the first time, that my spoken words could be as expansive as my writing. Or at least be able to string more than a few scant words together , I thought with irritation.
    She picked up her mug of coffee again then abruptly sat it back down. "You do realize, Mrs. Browning, that the man has a fire escape where his moral scruples should be."
    I gaped at her, whatever it was I'd been formulating in my mind completely gone now. Whatever in the world was the woman talking about?
    "I beg your pardon?" I didn't stammer, not precisely, but it was a fair enough facsimile.
    "The mayor. His comings and goings. His dealings. His daughter. His need to—to have her spied on! He should have known that I'd side with her any day!" Her expression had darkened, and I felt genuinely startled. Why did this all suddenly feel like a trip down the proverbial rabbit hole?
    "And you are telling me this…why?" I admit I was intrigued, wanted to hear more of what was rapidly becoming a rant—what had she put in her coffee, I wondered—but knew I probably should end this conversation here and now.
    Ms. Wentworth drew herself up, took in a deep breath, and spoke.
    "Natalie Greenberg. Tally, dear sweet Tally."
    And promptly burst into tears.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    I sat and observed Ms. Wentworth with concern, although I myself have been guilty of the same response. When I am misunderstood, I can howl with the best of them. However, Ms. Wentworth's tears, which were threatening to undo the little makeup she was wearing, did not seem to fall in that category. I believed that the woman genuinely loved the mayor's daughter, although in what capacity precisely I could not say. Still, she was asking for my help, at least tacitly, and who was I to refuse?
    I replaced my notebook into my bag and left it sitting next to the chair as I walked across to Ms.