She opened the door, which set chimes ringing, and went inside.

Nat stood still, confused at the sight. Dominating the waiting room of the small construction office was an old-fashioned portrait of a man who looked remarkably familiar. He had dark hair and a mustache, and wore an old-fashioned suit. She crossed to the picture and read the metal plaque underneath: Our Founder, Joseph Graf, Sr.

Joseph Graf, Sr.? Was the man related to Joe Graf, the CO. from the prison? The man had to be his father, didn't he?

"May I help you, dear?" asked a woman who bustled in from an open doorway in the back of the room. She was about fiftyish, with big blue eyes, a pleasant smile, and graying brown hair that went all the way to her waist. She wore a tan sweatshirt with the letters FFA, with jeans and sneakers.

Nat tried to collect her thoughts. "This is the company founder, huh?"

"He was. Mr. Graf died many years ago. His son Jim runs the business now."

"Its funny. He looks exactly like a guy who was in the newspaper the other day. I forget what the story was about."

"Oh, the fussing at the prison. That was Jim's brother, Joe. He works there."

"Right, that was it." Nat figured her makeover was working. "I saw a Phoenix trailer at the prison just the other day, when I drove past."

"Sure, that's our job. How can I help you, honey?" The woman bent over and straightened the magazines on the coffee table. "We're not open today, but I have to come in. The filing never ends."

Nat thought fast. "Funny, that's what I came about. I need a job, and filing sounds great to me."

"Really?" The woman burst into a smile, then reached out her hand and shook Nat's warmly. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Agnes Grady Chesko. What's your name? I didn't even ask."

Uh. Nat's gaze fell to the magazines. Car amp; Driver. "Carr. Pat Carr."

"Well, Pat, I manage the office, do the books, and keep a whole crew of crazy guys paid. I'm what they used to call 'chief cook and bottle washer,' but you're too young to know that expression." Agnes eyed her. "You still in high school?"

"Uh, no. I had a year of college. I was an art major."

"That's nice. Where?"

Somewhere far away. "University of Wisconsin, but I'm taking a leave. During the week I have a regular job."

"What do you do?"

Something believable. "I work at a bookstore in town."

"Oh, I never go into Philly. It's too far, and I hate to pay for parking."

"I could really use a Saturday job, just for the extra money."

"We couldn't pay much. Maybe minimum wage."

"Tell you what. Please, give me a tryout, for free, today. If you like what I do, then keep me at minimum wage."

Agnes brightened. "So, you want 'pin money,' we used to say."

"We call it tuition money."

"Good one!" Agnes clapped her on the back, and Nat almost hit the wall. "I like a good sense of humor. You'll need it when you see that filing."

"I can handle it. I'm good at the alphabet."

"Hallelujah, looks like my prayers have been answered." Agnes laughed again and threw up her hands. "Come back into my nest, and I'll show you the ropes."

Yay! Nat felt a tingle of excitement. They walked down a short hallway with an office and another door to the right. Nat looked over. "Is that the boss's office?"

"Yep, he's not in much. He's always out at jobs. We've got twenty-three employees including me, full time, and we sub out the rest. Here's my den." Agnes gestured at a cramped office with a single window and a funny smell. A black metal desk covered with knickknacks sat against the back wall, and gray filing cabinets lined the interior wall, along with a messy shelf of black notebooks of building codes. Agnes stepped over to her desk, which held a large cardboard box, full of papers. "This is my filing, a year's worth."

Yikes. "Yikes." Nat went to the box and peeked inside. There had to be invoices in there from the Dumpster company at the prison. In fact, there should be a file on the prison job somewhere in this office, if the place worked the way Greco Construction did. "I assume every job has its own file."

"Right." Agnes took the top invoice from the pile, which read, John Taylor Residence, then crossed to the drawer and pulled out a manila folder labeled, Taylor Residence, John. "This is obviously the job name, so you put the invoice in the job file. It's not rocket science."

"Gotcha. Residential jobs go by first letter of the last name, and commercial jobs go by the first letter of the company?"

"Exactly. You catch on quick."

It's that Yale law degree.

"I'll get to work and catch up on my payroll. It'll be nice to have somebody else to talk to back here, especially another girl."

"Great." Rats. Nat had been hoping Agnes would leave her alone with the files. She slid off her coat, set it on the back of a chair, and picked up the filing box, getting a stronger whiff of that funny smell.

She looked down and almost jumped. A ferret slept on its back, on a net stretched over a blue plastic box. Its back legs flopped open pornographically. "Is that a ferret?"

"Sorry, I should have introduced you." Agnes sat down at her desk and pulled her keyboard closer. "That's Frankie, my loverboy. Isn't he so cute?"

"So cute." But is he gonna close his legs anytime soon? Nat picked up the filing box and set it nearer the file cabinets. "I'll get this off your desk so you can work."

"Good idea." Agnes switched on a black Sony boombox on the credenza behind her. "Hope you don't mind the oldies station. I'm talking the fifties."

"Fine with me," Nat said, until a woman started singing that she'd die if a man didn't call her. No wonder women were so messed up. It's a wonder we could even walk.

"I'm a big Frankie Valli fan. He sang 'Sherry' and 'You're Just Too Good to Be True.' You know those songs?"

"Yes, sure." Nat went through the top papers. Another bill for John Taylor Residence, then some lumber ordered from Tague for the Shields Family Addition. She took both bills and went to the correct drawers, starting with the Ts, in case Agnes was watching her.

"They did a show about them on Broadway. Jersey Boys. I went with my girlfriends. Oh, did we have fun." Agnes's fingers flew across the keyboard, pounding like a rainstorm. "My friend Danielle threw a bra on the stage."

"Was it hers?"

Agnes laughed, and Nat kept her distracted.

"Is Frankie the ferret named for Frankie Valli?"

"Aren't you the detective!"

One can only hope. "No, I'd be a bad detective. I'd be a great construction worker, though. I used to think it would be fun to do the demolition part, like where you take apart rooms."

"Yeah, get all your aggressions out."

"Right. Do you have employees here that do that? Maybe I can get a transfer."

"Ha! The Mexicans do that, mostly. They don't even speak English."

Damn. "It still sounds like fun, except for the cleanup. Where do they take all that stuff? Throw it in Dumpsters, right?"

"Now that's not a job you’d want."

"You do that yourselves or you have a Dumpster company?"

"We use a company, whichever one's local to the job."

"So how long have you had Frankie?" Nat went back to the box, took off the top few papers, and held them close to her chest as she went over to the C drawers, for Chester County Correctional Institution. She wanted that job file.

"Five years, and I don't have him. He has me."

Aw. "I used to have a cat, so I know what you mean." Nat checked the Cs, which were spread over two drawers, C-A to C-I and C-I to C-U. She went for the bottom drawer. "I don't know much about ferrets. Educate me."

"First thing you have to know is ferrets aren't rodents. They're cousins of weasels, otters, and skunks."