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right now.” I took both hands off the wheel so I could give a proper cheer, but only for a second. The Toyota hadn’t been aligned since the last century.
    “Man, I’m a genius,” I told Burton.
    “Indisputably.”
    “Can you get me in there?”
    “Already arranged,” he said. “Go to the front desk in the main building and ask for Marcello. He’ll take it from there.”
    “Burton, you
are
a prince.”
    “Not at all, darling.”
    Getting into the parking lot was the easy part. To avoid suspicion all you needed was a Benz or a Rolls-Royce, or a beat-up pickup truck like the help drove. Just don’t try it in a new Chevy station wagon.
    The main building looked like any of the older mansions built along the shoreline. White trim, monster blue hydrangeas, millions of gables and dormers, and cedar siding so gray with age it was almostblack. A porch deep enough to hold a square dance ran across the front of the place. It was furnished in white wicker, of course, arranged on Oriental carpets with wicker coffee tables holding bouquets of fall flowers and copies of
Impossibly Wealthy and Obscenely Privileged Quarterly
.
    Marcello surprised me. I was expecting a gorgeous Latin, slim and refined. What I got was an ordinary-looking Asian guy, slightly chubby and refined. He wore a spotless white suit and a tie with the most beautiful iridescent colors I’d ever seen.
    “Miss, how do you say …?”
    “With difficulty,” I said, then pronounced Pete’s last name.
    “Ah. Of course.”
    “Great tie, by the way. They don’t happen to make that in a scarf?”
    He gave a little bow. “A pity, no.”
    He looked left and right, then over his shoulder.
    “Mr. Lewis told me of your plan,” he said, lowering his voice. “I am honored to assist you, though you realize this is highly improper and must never be discussed. It would mean instant dismissal.”
    “I’m totally cool with that, Marcello. I’m an attorney. Discretion is my middle name.”
    “So I understand. Mr. Lewis told me I should retain your services to help with a little misunderstanding I’m experiencing with your immigration.”
    I slid him my card.
    “Absolutely, Mr….?”
    “Machado, at your service.”
    “The service is all mine,” I said. “So.”
    He took a pen out of his breast pocket and clicked the button with a pretty little flourish. Then pulled a small pad out from behind the desk.
    “I’ll draw you a map. We’re here. Mrs. Wolsonowicz is here on the east patio having her usual lunch. She used to stay here for a monthevery summer, but now she just has lunch. The same lunch, every day.” He checked his watch. “She’ll be finished now, which means she’ll be having a double Dewar’s on the rocks while she does the
Times
crossword.”
    I followed Marcello’s map down the hall and through a series of sitting rooms to an outdoor patio covered by a giant green awning. I wormed my way across the patio, pretending to admire the flower arrangements stuck on all the tables.
    “Red roses. You gotta stop and smell ’em,” I said, startling some poor old sot when I bent down to give his vase a sniff.
    “I’m sure you do,” he said.
    Eunice Wolsonowicz’s vase was filled with curly stalks of bamboo. Not much to sniff. I sat across from her.
    “Mrs. Wolsonowicz? I’m Jacqueline Swaitkowski.”
    She looked up from her crossword.
    “What sort of a name is that?”
    “Same sort as yours, I guess,” I said to her.
    “I like yours better.”
    “Thank you. It was my late husband’s.”
    “So was mine.”
    “I’m really an O’Dwyer.”
    “I’m a Hamilton,” said Eunice.
    “There you go. Common ground already.”
    “Two fools who can’t hold on to a decent name.”
    “I’m Sergey Pontecello’s attorney. Or was, anyway.”
    “Oh, dear,” she said. “I hope you weren’t friends.”
    “We were just starting out. I’m sorry for your loss.”
    “I’m sorry, too. Though ‘loss’ doesn’t exactly describe it. By the