He kept his smile as he leaned back and studied her more closely. It made her uneasy, but not in a bad way. "A perfect world..."

"But it sure isn't that," she said. She picked up the coffeepot, keeping her elbow in tight and back so her right breast strained her uniform blouse.

"Don't go away," he said.

She felt herself heat up like the decaf, and her heart started to hammer.

"Work to do," she said. "Sorry."

She turned away, hoping to hear his voice calling her back. Waiting...

I'm hard to get, hard to get but worth it.... Come on....

"If you go away," he said, "I'll have to order something else to make you come back."

Ah! She grinned. She did feel like one of G.o.d's beautiful creatures. The good-looking guy made her feel that way. She grinned. She did feel like one of G.o.d's beautiful creatures. The good-looking guy made her feel that way.

She turned back around to face him, being careful to keep a neutral expression.

"I wanted to talk, is all," he said.

"About what?"

"Why is it called the Nickel Diner? There's nothing on the menu that's a nickel."

"They always said about Mick, the owner, that he never saw a nickel he didn't pick up."

"Interesting. See, we talked and I learned something."

She smiled. "I didn't."

"Well, we haven't talked long enough. Don't you ever get lonely? Don't you sometimes just want somebody to talk to?"

She put the coffeepot back down on the table. "Yes and yes."

"What size shoe do you wear?"

Huh? "Seven," she said. "Why?" "Seven," she said. "Why?"

"I can get you shoes. I'm in New York to help design a new shoe store."

"You're not an actor?" She feigned disappointment.

"Close," he said. "Shoe business."

"G.o.d!" she said, and rolled her eyes.

But she did like a man with a sense of humor.

"I can get you shoes," he said again. "You like pumps?"

"Joyce!"

Alice's voice from behind the counter. When Joyce looked over at her, Alice made a sideways motion with her head toward the kitchen. A signal that Mick might be taking an interest in where Joyce was, what she was doing. Mick could make a big commotion, like a major storm with thunder but no lightning. Except maybe if he thought she was flirting with a customer. Then there would be lightning to go with the thunder. He had a thing about that, said it was one of the shalt nots shalt nots in the diner Bible. in the diner Bible.

"I really better get back to work," she said to the good-looking guy. "The boss doesn't like even the thought of the help getting to know any of the customers too well."

"We don't know each other too too well. But I'd like to get to know you better. It's not just the pancakes talking, Joyce. I mean it." well. But I'd like to get to know you better. It's not just the pancakes talking, Joyce. I mean it."

She almost asked how he knew her name, and then she remembered Alice had just called her. Also, it was on all his breakfast checks along with a little smiley face.

"I'm Loren Ensam," he said, holding out his right hand. It was narrow but long-fingered; he had a pianist's hands.

She shook the hand, feeling its surprising strength though he didn't seem to have squeezed very hard.

"Joyce House," she said.

"Got a phone number, Joyce?"

"Joyce!" Alice called again. With more desperation this time.

"When I go over and total your check," she said, "I'll write it on the copy you keep."

He smiled up at her. "Okay. I'll be honest. I'm in the middle of an ugly divorce, and it wouldn't be to my advantage if my soon-to-be ex learned I was seeing another woman. And if your boss found out about us, you might lose your job and I'd have to find another breakfast stop. So we'll have a secret relationship."

"Sounds like fun." Joyce was already moving away from the booth.

"Oh, it can be," she heard him say behind her.

Of course, he'd never seen Mick blow up.

When she was back behind the counter, Alice grinned at her and said, "So how'd you do?"

"He's married with three kids," Joyce said without hesitation.

She didn't like doing it, but how could she not lie to Alice, who slept with Mick?

Joyce realized that her life had suddenly become more complicated. Secrets, lies, s.e.x. Well, not s.e.x yet. But it was inevitable.

Joyce was looking forward to all of it. She felt an inner turmoil that she didn't at all mind. What was happening was like out of a book, too good to be anything but fiction.

What if he doesn't call?

After she totaled up his check, she wrote her name and drew her customary little smiley face above it. The smiley face didn't seem as happy as usual. She saw that her hand was trembling.

He'll call. Why wouldn't he?

Below her name, on the check's customer receipt, she meticulously printed her phone number, even the area code so there would be no doubt. If Mick was watching, he'd probably think she was diligently itemizing prices.

Careful not even to glance at the good-looking guy, she walked over and laid the check on his table.

He'll call. He's got my number.

30.

The entire team, including Vitali and Mishkin, were in the office. They were sipping coffee, pa.s.sing around Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts, and talking over the appearance-then disappearance-of the shadow woman in Mary Bakehouse's old apartment building yesterday.

"I can't quarrel with your tactics," Quinn said, "one of you giving chase on foot on the stairs, and the other taking the elevator down to the lobby, so you have her trapped in a squeeze."

"Couple of things might explain why the tactic didn't work," Fedderman said. He was half sitting on his desk, trying not to dribble more coffee on his tie as he dipped a doughnut. The journey from cup to mouth was perilous, and he wasn't having much luck. "The elevator was too slow, and it's possible our shadow woman is young and spry, or Sal has lost a step in his advancing age."

"Screw you," Vitali said in his gravel-pan voice.

Quinn raised a hand for silence and motioned for Fedderman to continue.

Fedderman dribbled more coffee, just before hastily fitting the last bite of a soggy doughnut into his mouth. He chewed, gulped, and continued. "Another possibility is she ducked into one of the apartments on the way down and managed to stay hidden while the building was searched."

"Or became somebody else," Pearl said, bringing everyone up short. Doughnuts froze in midair.

"Whaddya mean?" Vitali asked. "She got into an apartment where n.o.body was home and posed as a tenant?"

"Might even be be a tenant, for all we know," Pearl said. a tenant, for all we know," Pearl said.

Pearl thinking outside the universe. Quinn almost smiled.

"I see what she means," Mishkin said. He was seated in Fedderman's chair. "Since we don't have the slightest idea who this woman is, she might be anybody. Very illuminating angle, Pearl."

"It's like she reads minds sometimes," Fedderman said.

"The shadow woman, or Pearl?" Mishkin asked, looking slightly confused.

"Don't pay any attention to him," Pearl said. "You haven't been around Fedderman long enough to realize he's full of s.h.i.t."

"You have been around Sal a long time, though," Quinn said to Mishkin. "You think he mighta been slow enough coming down those stairs that the shadow woman made it out of the building before either Sal or you reached the lobby?"

Mishkin looked at Sal, obviously torn. Sal had some gray in his hair now, and he'd developed a slight stomach paunch. The truth demanded that Mishkin dis his partner.

"Yeah, that could be," he said. Then: "Sorry, Sal."

"Maybe it was the brownies," Vitali said.

"Brownies?" Pearl asked.

Vitali shrugged. "Never mind."

"Brownies and doughnuts, Sal. You're not gonna be any faster on stairs next year."

"Give him a break," Fedderman told Pearl. "You don't fit so well anymore into your-"

"Enough, Feds," Quinn said.

Pearl was glowering at Fedderman. "I'll show you a whole new way to eat that doughnut."

"Let's wrap this up," Quinn said. He knew the uneasy truce between Pearl and Fedderman, while conducive to progress, could sometimes become genuinely hostile. The trick was to prevent spark from becoming fire-or explosion. "Anybody got any theories on the shadow woman's ident.i.ty?"

"You mean if we had to guess?" Mishkin asked.

"Sure," Quinn said. "Who knows? Maybe we'll all guess the same person."

"My guess is Chrissie," Fedderman said. "She hasn't played straight with us yet."

"The woman in Bakehouse's building coulda been Chrissie," Vitali said.

"My guess is Cindy Sellers," Pearl said.

"Or somebody we haven't met yet," Mishkin said. "Like a relative of one of the other victims. Or maybe she's Tiffany's ghost."

Pearl looked curiously at Quinn. "So what's your guess?"

"I'm not in the guessing business," Quinn said. "This isn't some kind of party game."

"You're in the double-crossing pain-in-the-a.s.s business," Pearl said.

Vitali said, "What if we'd all guessed the same woman?"

"Then we'd try to figure out why," Quinn said. "And maybe we'd have something."

"Like Tiffany's ghost," Pearl said.

She jumped at the first four notes of the immortal Dragnet Dragnet theme. They were coming from her purse where it rested on the corner of her desk. She scooped up the purse and fished the phone out, peered at it to see who was calling. theme. They were coming from her purse where it rested on the corner of her desk. She scooped up the purse and fished the phone out, peered at it to see who was calling.

Somebody at Golden Sunset a.s.sisted Living.

Her mother. Just what she needed while she was in a murder investigation brainstorming session.

"Jesus!" Pearl said.

"Better pick up then," Fedderman said.