“Hey, you,” said Carol, taking proprietary hold of my arm as if we had been an item for years instead of days. With her free hand, she smoothed down my tie. “You look great.”

“It’s my new fashion consultant. She’s all the rage. You thirsty?”

“Parched.”

After I ordered a round, we made the introductions and had one of those spineless conversations that awkward groups have at crowded bars where the music has grown a little too loud. The weather, the Phillies, the food downstairs, snide remarks about the latest celebrity scandal. Carol kept hold of my arm and was overly effusive toward Beth. Gelhead’s name was Nick, and he seemed to have a thing for Carol. Beth, who usually had a thing for gelheads, didn’t seem at all interested in Nick, but she couldn’t stop staring at the way Carol flirted and clutched at me. All enough to give me a headache. I called Antoine over and ordered another round for the four of us.

Twenty minutes in, Nick glanced at his watch. “It’s time,” he said.

“Duty calls,” said Carol. “Sorry to run out like this and leave you stranded.”

“We’ll manage,” I said.

“The man we’re meeting is very big in real estate,” she said, her eyes widening at the word big. “It’s all hush-hush, but this could be the break of our careers. One of his lieutenants is a patient of Dr. Pfeffer’s. That’s how he got my name. He told the doctor he was looking for a new public-relations firm.”

“Convenient.”

“He also told him they’re looking for a new lawyer to handle some problem they are having. Should I give them your name?”

“We don’t do real estate,” said Beth.

“But we can learn,” I said, handing Carol one of my cards.

She looked at it. “Derringer and Carl. It has a ring, doesn’t it? Do you know anything about real estate?”

“Location, location, location,” I said.

“That should be enough.”

She yanked at the arm she had been holding, pulled me close, and as Nick looked balefully on, kissed me wetly on the lips. Our first kiss, but it was performed by Carol so matter-of-factly it was as if we had been intimate for months.

“It was so nice to meet you, Beth,” said Carol.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” said Beth.

“Bye, Victor. Be good. I’ll call you when I get home, tell you what they said.”

“So that’s Carol,” said Beth as we watched the two of them elbow their way away from the bar.

“That’s Carol.”

“Carol, Carol, Carol.”

“She does yoga.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Beth. “It seemed like you guys were pretty hot and heavy.”

“So it did,” I said.

“Are you?”

“I didn’t think so, but I’ve never known what the hell is going on in any of my relationships. Why should this one be any different? I suppose by the time I get up to speed, she’ll dump me.”

“I don’t think Slick Nick would mind that at all,” said Beth.

“No, he seemed a bit smitten, didn’t he?”

“You’re not worried, your new girlfriend spending the night alongside handsome Mr. Nick?”

“With that tie? Please.”

Just then Antoine stepped up and reached over the bar to tap me on my shoulder.

“There he is,” he said, indicating a short, hunched man with wavy black hair and a pointed face. He looked like an overdressed ferret with bad posture as he made his way, meeting and greeting, across the club. A walking T-bone in a black turtleneck moved in front of him, wedging the crowd open as if for Caesar. “He generally holds court in the cigar lounge,” said Antoine. “And he likes his privacy.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said.

We stayed at the bar for a few moments longer, finished our drinks, paid our bill, watched as Geoffrey Sunshine entered the glass-walled, smoke-filled room. Geoffrey Sunshine, the restaurant mogul who had brought François Dubé, Leesa Cullen, and Velma Takahashi together, a combustible combination that ended in murder. I had a few questions for Mr. Sunshine.

“You ever smoke a cigar, Beth?”

“Not in this life.”

“Time to start,” I said as we fought our way to the cigar lounge and to Geoffrey Sunshine. “Off we go, into the miasma.”

“You’re the lawyers representing François,” said Geoffrey Sunshine. He had heavy-lidded eyes and thin lips, and every word that slipped out of his mouth had an aura of corruption about it.

“That’s right,” I said.

“And you want to talk to me?”

“If your nanny doesn’t mind,” I said, directing my thumb at the T-bone in the black turtleneck.

The moment we had stepped up to the corner of the lounge where Sunshine was sitting, the bodyguard had interjected his massive frame between his boss and us, as if Sunshine was the president and our law firm’s name was Hinckley & Hinckley. We were talking now over the man’s broad shoulders as he restrained us with his outstretched arms, readying to bum-rush us out the door.

Sunshine took a couple of puffs from his absurdly long cigar as he eyed us and then said, “It’s okay, Sean.”

The bodyguard bared his upper teeth like a disappointed dog before letting us by.

“How does it look for François?” said Sunshine, eyeing his cigar and speaking as if he cared not a whit one way or the other. “Are you going to get him out of jail?”

“We got him a new trial,” said Beth. “Things are looking better than before.”

“Tell him there is always a place for him in my kitchen if you are successful.” He showed his little teeth in an approximation of a smile. Something about his ferret face looked strangely familiar. “I could really use him, especially with the way my current chef abuses the turmeric.”

“I’m sure François will be very grateful to hear it,” said Beth.

“Sit down, both of you,” said Sunshine, gesturing toward a couch set kitty-corner to his chair. There were two men in suits on the couch, overfed men with cigars, there to talk business with the mogul, but Sunshine gave them a brief nod and they jumped up with alacrity to give us the seats. It shouldn’t have, but it felt damn good to see them scamper.

“Now,” said Sunshine after we sat, “how can I help my good friend François?”

I took out the picture of Velma, passed it over. “Do you recognize this woman?”

He looked at it, squinted his beady eyes, looked at it again. I didn’t remember ever meeting him before, but something about his sneer of a personality struck a chord of memory.

“It might be Velma,” he said, “but she looks different somehow.”

“I think she had some surgery.”

“Well then, definitely Velma.” He sucked at his cigar. “Velma Wykowski, one of the famous Wykowski sisters.”

“I didn’t know she had a sister.”

“Leesa Cullen, I’m talking about,” he said. “That’s what we called them when they were both single, the famous Wykowski sisters. They didn’t look anything alike, and that was the joke. They used to hang out at the bar when I was just starting. They were often the evening’s entertainment.”

“Karaoke?”

“More like carry out the door. They drank too much, flirted too much.” His eyebrows rose obscenely. “They did everything too much. This was before they met up with François. He broke up the sister act. Marriage seems to take the fun out of people, don’t you think? Still, it was a tragedy what happened to Leesa.”

“Yes it was.”

“Whatever happened to Velma?”

“She got married,” I said. “You know, Mr. Sunshine, you look familiar.”

“Call me Geoffrey.”

“Sure, Geoffrey. Do I know you somehow?”

He sniffed loudly, rubbed his pointy nose. “I don’t think so.”

“Where’d you go to college?”

“Temple,” he said.

“Where’d you go to high school?”

“Abington.”

“What year?”

He stuck his cigar in his mouth, rolled it around with his tongue. “So you’re that Victor Carl.”

I snapped my finger. “Jerry Sonenshein. Son of a bitch, I knew I knew you.”