Manfred was through with his meal by the time the three finished their conversation. The couple left together. In the mirror Manfred saw the woman fish something from her tiny purse and slide it over to Olivia’s hand. A keycard. Huh, I didn’t expect that, he thought. He’d always speculated about his mysterious neighbor, who had an apartment in the basement of the pawnshop next door to Manfred in Midnight.

Manfred had met Olivia during the previous year at the same time he’d met Bobo’s other tenant, Lemuel Bridger. No one had ever given him much background on his neighbors, because people in Midnight weren’t prone to gossiping about each other, as a rule. But gradually, Manfred had come to understand that Olivia had a mysterious job that took her out of town from time to time. And he’d observed that Olivia sometimes returned to Midnight the worse for wear. Amid other possibilities, he had considered the idea that Olivia might be a prostitute. But as he’d gotten to know her, something about the way she handled herself made him discard the idea.

Despite the way her dinner with the older couple had played out, he couldn’t believe it now. What’s she up to? he asked himself. He glanced down at his watch. After seven minutes, Olivia rose and left the restaurant. She walked right by him, but she didn’t acknowledge him by so much as a twitch of an eyebrow.

Manfred left the restaurant maybe three minutes later, but he did not see Olivia at the elevator bank as he’d half expected. In fact, he didn’t see her again that night. He woke once in the early morning, aware of some hubbub down the hall from his third-floor room; but it subsided, and he slept another hour.

When he stepped out of his room to go down to the hotel’s coffee shop for breakfast, the police were wheeling a body in a bag out of a room closer to the elevators than his. Manfred thought, Oh, shit. What did Olivia do?

He stayed in his doorway until the gurneys had rolled into the staff elevator. When he ventured out and down the hall to the guest elevators, a policeman holding a clipboard asked him his name. When Manfred responded, the cop checked it off on a list. “One of the officers will talk to you later,” the cop said. “You’ll need to stay in the hotel until you’ve been interviewed.”

“I’ll be here.” Manfred tried hard to sound appropriately somber and innocent. “I am assuming one of the guests died?”

“Two. But the officer will tell you what you need to know.”

Manfred stepped into the elevator, his thoughts racing around like a mouse in a maze. He realized he’d never considered that Olivia might not be involved at all, and he’d also never considered that the body bag might contain anyone besides the man or the woman she’d dined with the night before.

When he emerged from the elevator, the calm, techno lobby of Vespers had been overturned. Now the mirrors reflected quite a few people, mostly of the police persuasion. Manfred sighed heavily. He doubted the lobby of Vespers had ever seen so many police, uniformed or plainclothes. The staff did not look so smoothly chic today. They looked both anxious and excited.

Inside the sunny morning restaurant (Mattina), seated at a table for two, was Olivia. She looked much more like the woman he knew, in lighter makeup and a gauze blouse and khakis. He looked away elaborately (This is not the woman I seek), but as the hostess bustled up to seat him, Olivia jerked her head in a summons.

“I see a friend,” he told the hostess, and slid into the chair opposite Olivia’s. Her plate of fruit and bowl of yogurt had been sampled. As he sat, she signaled for her coffee cup to be refilled.

“My gosh, Manfred!” Olivia said, leaning forward to give him a clap on the arm. “I didn’t know you were in Dallas!”

“Same here,” he said at the same volume level, just loud enough to be heard by the waitstaff. “I thought I saw you last night, but then I said to myself, ‘No, that just can’t be Olivia!’” His voice was light, but he knew his expression was anything but. Olivia smiled at him.

The waiter arrived with the coffeepot to refresh Olivia’s cup. Manfred took the opportunity to order a large breakfast. He would need the fuel.

Her face growing somber, Olivia said, “In a totally weird coincidence, I saw the Devlins last night. I haven’t seen them in five years, I guess. They seemed just fine, so normal. I just can’t understand it.”

So the dead couple had been the Devlins.

“I never met them,” Manfred said firmly and a bit more loudly than necessary. “But I saw a body being removed down the hall from me, and the policeman wouldn’t tell me what had happened. Though it seems you know?”

“Yes, a horrible thing. Stuart . . . well, I hate to even say it, but apparently last night Stuart and Lucy had some kind of argument in their room, and he killed her. And then himself.”

He stared at her. There was nothing in her face or eyes, no subtext. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, stunned and sickened. He scrambled to recover his composure. “Did anyone hear them fighting? That’s really . . . awful.”

“It is,” she agreed, after a gulp of coffee. “I ran into them in Veneto last night, and we ended up having dinner together. They were kind of sniping at each other, but that’s the way some couples do, you know? They’d been married so long. It just seems incredible.”

“It seems incredible to me, too,” he said, aware that his voice was way too grim. He made another effort to relax. “So assuming the police let you go, what are your plans for the day?”

Olivia gave him a gentle smile. “I had always planned to spend another night here, and I’ll stick to that. I hate to sound shallow, but I guess I’ll just go on with my little shopping trip. That was my agenda for today. Now I kind of want to take my mind off them. I can’t help them or change the situation, after all.” She looked down at her cup and shrugged. “You know when you come to Big D, you’ve got to shop at the Galleria. A gal’s gotta have clothes. I’ll take in a movie, maybe go to a comedy club tonight. I could use a good laugh, especially after all this. You want to tag along?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m here to work, and I’m booked up today and tomorrow.” He was free both evenings, but he knew he’d need the time to recuperate. Besides, just now he didn’t want to go anywhere with Olivia.

“Work?” There was a faint question in her voice.

“Private readings.”

She looked at him seriously, as if she were really seeing him for the first time. “I hope you make a bundle,” she said.

“That’s the plan,” he said, and the waiter set his plate in front of him. He was glad of the interruption. Olivia smiled at his heaped plate, but he didn’t react. He poured syrup on his stuffed French toast and cut it up, hoping his appetite would return. He ate a lot on days he was working one-on-one, because the last thing he wanted was to get woozy. He dug into his food, gradually feeling hungrier since everything was delicious. Olivia drank more coffee, but he was glad she let the conversation drop so he could eat in peace. She charged her meal to her room and gathered up her cell phone and newspaper.

“Were you going to mention this to Lemuel?” Manfred asked.

She paused in pushing back her chair. “Why not?”

“Just wanted to be sure we were on the same page.” If there was one person in the world Manfred did not want to keep a secret from, that person was Lemuel.

A stocky man in a sports shirt pulled up another chair to the table. Startled, Manfred looked from the man’s dark face to Olivia. She looked mildly questioning and not at all alarmed.

“Manfred, this is Detective Sterling, Bonnet Park police.”

“Manfred Bernardo.” He shook the detective’s hand. “Did you want to talk to me, or shall I scoot along?” He glanced at his watch. He had thirty minutes until he had to meet his first client.