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they’re finally bringing. Not that he would live any differently. He was a man who always did what he wanted to do. He wanted to be a farmer and he was. He’d still be a farmer.”
    Most people don’t like to talk about their money. There are exceptions, of course; usually people who have just made a lot of it and want you to know about it. Most other people don’t discuss it because, I guess, they think they’ll either embarrass you or embarrass or endanger themselves by whatever they reveal. Amelia Muleto seemed indifferent to the psychological issues surrounding money. She used money seriously but didn’t take it seriously.
    I said this to Zee as we drove away.
    â€œUncle Ray was the same way,” said Zee. “Money was like air or food or shelter to him. He knew you needed a certain amount of it, but he never went after any extra. He appreciated the checks from Willard Blunt, but never thought about them very much. He was interested in his vegetables and wine and his family. Money was only a tool. As long as he had enough, he was satisfied. I doubt if he ever imagined that he might die and leave Aunt Amelia a widow without income. I doubt if she thought about it either. When it happened, of course, she dealt with it, because that’s the kind of person she is.”
    â€œShe’ll be going to the big Saturday bash, though.”
    â€œIn formal gown, looking splendid, you may be sure. She even has a role in the drama. She will accept the paste necklace on behalf of the Smithsonian while Aunt Emily presents the real thing to the Padishah. Aunt Amelia is still a beautiful woman. She dazzled high society when she was a debutante and now she’ll dazzle it again for one night. And then she’ll come back to her little house and live a life without grand balls or Padishahs or any of the other adornments that Aunt Emily thinks necessary.”
    Zee quite apparently favored Aunt Amelia over Aunt Emily. That was good news for me because my economicsystem was more like Ray Muleto’s than Edward Damon’s. And I had to do without a trust fund, too.
    â€œDid you notice the name of the royal family of Sarofim?” I asked.
    â€œI thought I saw you twitch a little when you read the name. Do you imagine what I’m imagining?”
    â€œThat the jerk who nearly ran over us is the Padishah of Sarofim being passed off as a mere ‘Mister’ Rashad? Yes. And that Standish Caplan’s job is to make sure he’s entertained and keeps out of trouble while he’s over here.”
    â€œAnd that Colonel What’s-his-name is his bodyguard?”
    â€œNagy. Yes. And the boat belongs to your Aunt Amelia’s brother-in-law.”
    â€œDid anyone ever draw it to your attention that life is sometimes ironic?”
    â€œYou’ve been reading your philosophy books again. I can tell.”
    I took Zee home so she could get some chores done before she changed for work. She was on the graveyard shift at the hospital. “For obvious reasons, we don’t use that phrase,” Zee had once explained, a bit testily. Zee had wonderful full red lips, which I could still taste as I left her West Tisbury house and drove back to Edgartown to find Manny Fonseca, the Portagee pistoleer.

5
    Manny Fonseca had a lot of nicknames, all of them tied to the old West, which fascinated him. He was a gun lover and he considered it to have been his great misfortune to have missed every war fought by America in his lifetime. He had been too young for World War II and Korea and too old for Vietnam. Although the United States governmenthad undertaken several undeclared and officially secret military operations while Manny was doing his turn in the army, and although Manny had done his best to be assigned to those activities, he had been stationed instead in Mississippi and been forced to content himself with becoming the camp’s small-arms expert. Manny had brought back home