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investigator.” He looked at the card a while longer, then to me, more judiciously. A careful one, Mr. Hendrix. “Go on.”
    “The board of trustees has asked me to inquire for them, since they obviously wouldn’t want their current company to be... offended.”
    “Obviously. Which complex is it?”
    I just smiled.
    His smile was judicious, too. “And naturally the complex involved therefore wishes to remain anonymous.”
    “Naturally.”
    “I’m not sure where that leaves us, Mr. Cuddy.”
    “Maybe if I could have some brochures for my clients to review?”
    A measured nod, then a very methodical search through a desk drawer, more as though Hendrix were buying time than hunting for something. Which made me realize something else: I hadn’t seen any brochures in the reception area, not even a holder for business cards. If you were a management company, and potential clients were waiting to see you, wouldn’t you at least want them to have— “Here we go,” passing a glossy piece of paper over to me. A grainy, black-and-white photo showed a couple standing in front of a six-paneled door, beaming at the lens. Their hair styles and clothes looked out-of-date, and given the cropping at the borders, the picture could have been taken anywhere. Just skimming the brochure’s widely spaced paragraphs of text, I found two obvious typos. “How long have you been in business?” I said.
    “At this location, only five years.”
    The photo looked older. “And how long have you been in the profession, yourself?”
    “Around ten.”
    “That should be about right for my clients.”
    Hendrix frowned. “Can you tell me how big their complex is?”
    “Let’s just say over fifty units.”
    “And how far from Marshfield ?”
    “Oh, within fifteen miles.”
    I was intentionally dangling the bait, and Hendrix seemed intentionally not to take it, making no effort to sell me on his company.
    “Well,” he said finally, the tone still mellow, “that certainly sounds like it’s in our ballpark. Unfortunately, though, we’re pretty heavily booked at the moment.”
    “You are.”
    “Yes. A lot of our clients prefer a more hands-on but low-key approach to property management, especially in this economy. We’re not expensive, and that matters, so we tend to hold the complexes we attract.”
    I wanted to keep this going, find out why he was now trying to gently discourage new business. “That’s good.”
    Hendrix just watched me.
    I said, “You see, that’s why the complex hired a private investigator instead of a lawyer. I’m cheaper, and a lot more ‘hands-on.’ ”
    Another measured nod.
    “Well, I guess that brings us to references.” I gestured toward the brochure drawer. “And maybe a sample contract?”
    Hendrix used his feet to rock just a little in the swivel chair. “We don’t really have a ‘sample contract,’ Mr. Cuddy.”
    “Not even a form you use as a model?”
    “I kind of negotiate each one individually.”
    “On behalf of the corporation.”
    “Corporation?”
    “Your management company here.”
    The rocking stopped. I was setting off a lot of bells for him, and I couldn’t see why.
    He said, “I’m a sole proprietorship.”
    “Ah. ‘Boyce Hendrix, doing business as’...?”
    “Hendrix Property Management Company.”
    I gave it a beat. “In addition to you and Mrs. Jelks, how many employees do you have?”
    “Some resident supers.”
    “Superintendents?”
    “That’s right.”
    Hoping to hear “Plymouth Willows,” I went back to an earlier request. “Maybe just the references, then.”
    “The references.”
    “Yes. Other complexes you currently manage, so my clients can get a sense of how they might be treated.”
    “Tell you what,” said Hendrix, coming forward in the chair, his voice steady but his feet planted for standing. “Why don’t you take our brochure there with you back to your clients? They like what they see, we can go on to those other things.”
    I held