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clients waiting for a slot and one lined up for a consultation in the morning, as well as a lot of people I’d referred to my website for information. If I ended up doing the job for Lorelei, her seven closets would extend the waiting time.
    My To Do list said:
    ✦ Call Connor Tierney
    ✦ Dog training—find anti-bark techniques
    ✦ Client consult: 10 a.m.
    ✦ Library: Ramona re: Anabel
    ✦ Keep lunch for Tierney?
    ✦ Lorelei: 3 p.m.
    I put on the coffee, walked the dogs, apologized as they barked at an elderly couple, and returned to enjoy a cup of medium Guatemalan. Before I took the first sip at seven fifteen, I left a message for Tierney asking if he could join me and Jack for lunch to discuss something. If lunch was not possible, we could probably make it for breakfast.
    I took a quick shower and got ready. I put on the outfit I’d laid out the night before, right down to the underwear and spangly earrings to perk up the look. I fixed my hair and did a better than usual job on my makeup. I changed my shoes twice, finally settling on a pair of electric blue leather spikes with four-inch heels. I felt like Superwoman in them.
    The dogs watched me suspiciously. They can always spot the most minuscule change in pattern. Must have been the extra makeup.
    Tierney called when we were in the middle of a training session. It involved startling them with a loud noise and them not barking. I did my part well, but that was still one of our tricky ones. So I was embarrassingly breathless when I answered the phone.
    “Breakfast would be better,” he said. “Betty’s Diner? Half an hour.”
    “Sure thing. But make that forty-five minutes so I can locate Jack.” I did not emphasize the fact that Jack and I live in the same house and he would still be snoring away. I’d have to throw a bucket of water on him or something. He sleeps like the dead.
    “Come on,” I said to the dogs. “We’re going downstairs.”
    Jack doesn’t lock the door to his first-floor apartment. Hell, sometimes he doesn’t even shut it. This was one of those times.
    “Go get Jack,” I said. “He has treats in his bed.”
    It wasn’t good news for my anti-bark program, but the resulting yelps were quite amusing. I hoped I didn’t crack the layer of foundation I’d slathered on my face by laughing too much.
    Jack sat up in bed, by which I mean his mattress on the floor, and said, “Wow. Are we going to a party?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You seem, well, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”
    “I’ll say this. Betty’s Diner, forty minutes.”
    “But it’s a twenty-minute drive.”
    “Right, so don’t waste time picking fights.”
    I stomped back upstairs and scrubbed my face. I removed the three applications of midnight blue mascara and went back to my usual look. I replaced the blue spike heels with a pair of tan sling backs and the spangly earrings with my trusty gold hoops. Smart, businesslike, but not quite so ready to party.

    As we arrived at Betty’s just after eight that morning, I mused that I never saw police officers in that particular diner. As usual, our server was Patsy Magliaro, always on duty when I show up. Patsy’s one of Woodbridge’s long-time hippie residents as evidenced by her tie-dyed skirt and hemp peasant top. Sometimes I think there’s a bit of marijuana mist surrounding her.
    “Three for breakfast,” I said when she sashayed over, Birkenstocks slapping on the floor.
    Across the room, I spotted Tierney already waiting in a booth. Jack gave him a dirty look, maybe because Jack’s idea of getting dressed up is a clean pair of baggy shorts and a fresh vintage Hawaiian shirt. Jack had found today’s shirt at the Goodwill and it featured dancing pineapples. Tierney was as usual dressed to kill.
    I said, “Just don’t.”
    Tierney was looking particularly silky when we approached the booth. He was also jingling his keys. That meant something I supposed, but who knew what.
    Tierney had