Distantly my phone rang. I trudged to the closet and pulled it from my jeans. “Howdy you. It’s me. Eliza Bailey.”


    “Dinner tonight with Tamara.” Gunther spoke softly.


    “Invitation or an order?” I was fighting with a pair of jeans.


    “We need to discuss the details of her mother’s investigation.”


    “And her murder, right? You want me to write that obituary.”


    “Come with your questions,” he said.


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    “Is she a good cook?”


    “I will pick you up at five, at the hotel”


    “If she isn''t a good cook, we could always get takeout. Know any good Chinese food?”


    “One more thing. There is a locker at the train station with four-hundred dollars inside a duffel bag. Sit in the hotel lounge. In fifteen minutes, someone you’ve never seen before will drop a key. Hang onto it.”


    “Ok. Thanks.” I reshouldered the phone.


    “Her mom was better.”


    “Huh?”


    “She’s okay. Her mom was a better cook.”


    “I won’t skip lunch then.”