He had a funny feeling going in the apartment, the wind blowing, then quiet as he closed the door-the place empty but all the lights on, every one of them.

It still surprised him the woman hadn’t yelled something. A woman like that, she would have demanded help if she needed it, then complained if he didn’t jump right away.

The apartment seemed in order, music playing softly on the radio. If they didn’t turn the radio or the lights off, that could mean something. Forced to leave without any fooling around. Or it could mean they didn’t worry too much about bills from Florida Power. People who owned places along the beach were always comparing their electric bills. An ashtray was full of long cigarette butts. A few Coconut Palms illustrated postcards lay on the desk. There was an empty champagne bottle in the trash can. He didn’t see the brandy bottle, the one Lula said was down a couple inches every morning when she cleaned. Lula said they tore the bed up; but both double beds were still made. A pink negligee hung in the bedroom closet. Moran wondered if he should take it; he was pretty sure he would never see them again. There didn’t seem to be anything that belonged to the piano player. Moran turned off the radio and the lights before he left.

They didn’t come back during the night. When Moran walked out to the street, early, before seven, he saw the woman’s gray Mercedes was gone. He thought, Well, that doesn’t mean anything. All of them still could be friends. They got back late and the woman decided to go home; the lovers never spent the night anyway. Maybe they’d be back at it this afternoon… Just about the time Moran would be at Miami International boarding the Eastern flight to Santo Domingo.

He waited until after nine before calling the number on the business card that bore the name Jiggs Scully and Consultant beneath it.