“You’ve got to have impeccable listening skills,” Mayburn said. To flex my listening muscle, he said he wanted me to tune in to a conversation in the restaurant and tell him what was said.

Just then, two women were led into the dining room. They were dressed expensively-one wearing a brown fur jacket, the other in a black coat with a hem of sparkling beads-and their hands were weighed down with shopping bags. The maître d’ seated them at the table behind us.

“Those are your subjects,” Mayburn said.

I started to twist around to get another look, but Mayburn said, “No, no, you don’t get to look at them. Staring at them signals you might be listening. You have to be able to do it without using your eyes.”

“No problem.” I took a sip of my water and began listening.

“Oof,” the one said, apparently sinking into her seat. “I’m exhausted.”

“Me, too.”

“Thank God I found something to wear to Beth’s Thanksgiving dinner. That was hanging over my head. I mean, you can’t just throw something on for that thing.”

“Absolutely not. Last year I wore a dress that I’d worn only once before, but she knew.”

“She gives you that look.”

“Exactly!”

Mayburn crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell you another thing that’s really important in investigative work.”

“Great,” I said.

“Assumptions.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never make them. You’re going to have to watch that. I can see the tendency in you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You assume that Sam must have had a reason for lifting those shares and taking off.”

“So?” I couldn’t keep the annoyed tone out of my voice. “I want to believe in the man I’m supposed to marry.” I had to. Or at least I had to try. I had doubted the wedding, which meant I doubted Sam and me. I doubted us. And now look what had happened.

“I respect that,” Mayburn said, “but you’ve got to wear two hats now. When you’re working on this case with me, you have to separate yourself from it. You have to look at Sam objectively.”

The waiter delivered our food. I cut a piece of the fish I’d ordered and put it in my mouth, but I couldn’t really taste it.

For a while, Mayburn ate and I pushed food around, and we made small talk.

Mayburn picked up the last bite of his lobster club and popped it in his mouth. “I hope you’re still listening to them,” he said, chewing.

“Listening to them? Oh, them.” I jerked my head back in the direction of the women. “No problem.”

“Yeah? You were listening to them the whole time?”

I dropped my voice. “Sure, they’re talking about whether they should have bought the jeans they both tried on.”

“And before that?”

I shrugged. “Before that you were talking to me about assumptions.”

“And you should have still been listening to them at the same time.”

“I was.”

Mayburn gave me a mild grin. “So what did they say? From the beginning.”

I pushed my plate away. “First, they talked about Nordstroms, and they said the saleslady was a bitch.”

“What else?”

“One of them wanted to return a pair of shoes. She told the saleslady she’d worn them twice, and they hurt her feet. She said the saleswoman wouldn’t accept the shoes she’d worn twice, which is priceless, don’t you think? I can’t believe she was trying to return used shoes.”

Mayburn crossed his hands on the table. “Izzy, focus for me. I need you to be able to remember exactly what she said. It’s like when you have a witness on the stand-”

“Right, right,” I interrupted him. “I get it. Every word is important. It’s like taking a deposition or cross-examining someone. You have to listen to each word, and to precisely how they phrase things.”

Mayburn gave me a pleased nod.

“Dude, seriously,” I said, leaning toward him. “Maybe you think this is hard. Maybe guys think it’s hard, but for me? For most women? I could listen to two more conversations. No-brainer.”

He paused, looked at me, shrugged. “Glad to hear it. I’ve got a couple of assignments for you on your case.”

I leaned farther in, more interested now.

“You need to talk to Shane Pickett,” Mayburn said. “Always look at the family first when someone dies. Especially when the family inherits a lot of money or assets.”

“Okay, I’ll see him tomorrow at the funeral-”

Mayburn shook his head. “You won’t be able to have a long discussion at the funeral. You’ve got to meet with him privately. Use those deposition skills. Ask him about his dad’s death, where he was that night, what’s been going on since, how he’s handling everything.”

“What am I looking for?”

“There are ways to cause a heart attack. We need to rule that out.”

“But even if Shane did something to hurt his dad, he’s not going to tell me, right?”

“Of course not. Look, the way investigations work is that you put lots and lots of little pieces together. So, this is your first piece-get Shane Pickett’s explanation of the whole thing now that his dad’s been gone a few days. Shane Pickett’s demeanor. Anything that comes up when you talk to him.”

“Should I tell him I’m working with you?”

“Never tell a subject you’re investigating them, unless it’s to your advantage. With Shane Pickett, you’re in a key position. You’re already on the inside. There’s no reason to tell him anything.”

“Okay. What’s the other assignment?” I felt motivated by these tasks, by the thought that something was being done about Forester’s death. At last.

“I need you to find the names and addresses of the doctors Forester was seeing-both his cardiologist and that Chinese whack job. We’ll need to establish whether his health was as good as he was telling you.”

“Got it.”

Mayburn wiped his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat. “Anything else you haven’t told me about Forester? Or Sam?”

I glanced around, feeling that creeping paranoia again. “There is something.” I told him about how the blinds in my garage were up that morning and how it looked as if something had been placed on the sill. I told him about my meeting with the FBI.

“Shit. Are you serious? You’re probably being followed by the feds. When were you going to tell me this?”

“Now.”

“Jesus, Izzy.”

The restaurant was getting louder now that the happy hour crew was descending.

“Does that screw everything up?”

“Well, I really don’t like the thought of the feds tailing one of my operatives…” He bit his lip, and his words trailed off. Then he shrugged. “What the heck. I guess it really doesn’t matter. If the guy I’m investigating really did what we think he did, the feds are going to find out anyway.” He waved for the check. “Let’s get out of here.”

“So,” I said as we waited, returning to the small talk, “what are your plans for tonight?” I realized that I knew nothing about John Mayburn from a personal perspective, other than he was in his early forties.

“Not much.” But I noticed he looked uncomfortable for the first time today.

“I guess I’ve never asked, are you married?” I glanced at this left hand. No ring.

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not right now. So tonight, I’ll probably go home and return the calls I’ve been getting from my family.” He gave an embarrassed look. “Tomorrow is my birthday, and they want to make some grand plans.”

“What?” I clapped. “Your birthday? Let’s get some dessert!” The waiter arrived with the bill, and I asked him for a dessert menu.

Mayburn took it from my hands. “No dessert,” he said with quiet force. He handed the menu back to the waiter. “Just the check, please.”

I crossed my arms and looked at Mayburn. “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

He scoffed. “Fuck off. I do fine with the ladies. I didn’t want you to order cake or a dessert because I’m trying to teach you something, and that’s when you can keep a low profile.”