‘‘Tell that to the bugs, big boy.’’

‘‘Tinnie?’’

‘‘It’s all hearsay to me. I haven’t been to the site.’’

‘‘Ladies?’’ Bobbi and Lindy were content to sit quietly and elevate the temperature of the room. The Dead Man offered no remarks. Singe sat in the corner with her dim candle, working her books.

Her rat eyes do let us save on lighting costs.

Tinnie took the opportunity to apply a pinch meant to keep me focused.

Alyx admitted, ‘‘What I’m telling you is hearsay to me, too. Daddy won’t let me go to the construction site.’’

Tinnie observed, ‘‘He doesn’t want her associating with the kind of guys who work construction.’’

I snickered. ‘‘That’s because he started out as that kind of guy himself. So. Alyx. What do you want? Other than to indulge in one of your special efforts to get Tinnie mad at me?’’

‘‘Daddy wants to talk to you about what’s going on.’’

Max has been good to me. His retainer, meant to inhibit floor loss and general misconduct at the brewery, has kept me solvent through numerous dry spells.

‘‘Can I catch a ride?’’

‘‘We’re not headed home. We’re going to Tinnie’s. To rehearse.’’

They had a play already?

Tinnie said, ‘‘No, we’re going to the manufactory. There’s more room. And more privacy. The walk will do you good.’’

‘‘I’m so pleased you’re always looking out for me.’’

‘‘You’re very special to me.’’

‘‘What if I slip on a patch of ice?’’ She was right. It had been a long winter and I’d spent most of it avoiding going outside.

‘‘I’ll bring fresh flowers, lover.’’

Dean finally wandered in, armed with refreshments. Two steps into the room he froze. His jaw dropped.

He’s old. Around seventy, I’d guess. He’s skinny, shows a lot of bushy white hair this year, and has dark eyes that can twinkle with mischief. On rare occasions. More often they’re alive with disapproval.