"They will," said Arlene. "This is for Wedding Bells."

"Wedding Bells?"

Arlene lit the next cigarette and took a long, slow drag. After exhaling, she said, "This high-school-sweetheart search was a great idea of yours, Joe, and it's making money, but we're reaching the point of diminishing returns with it."

"After four months?" said Kurtz.

Arlene moved her lacquered fingernails in a complex gesture. "What separates it from the other on-line school-sweetheart services is you tracking some of these people down on foot, delivering some of the love letters in person."

"Yeah?" said Kurtz. "So?" But he understood then. "You mean that there's only so much market share in this part of Western New York and Northern Pennsylvania and Ohio within range of my driving. Only so many old high-school yearbooks we can look through in the region. After that, we're just another on-line search agency. Yeah, I thought of that when I came up with this idea in prison, but I thought it would last longer than four months."

Arlene smiled. "Don't worry, Joe. I didn't mean that we're going to run out of yearbook sources or clients for the next couple of years. I just mean we're reaching the point of diminishing returns—or at least for your door-to-door part of it."

"So… Wedding Bells," said Kurtz.

"Wedding Bells," agreed Arlene.

"I assume that's some sort of on-line wedding-planning service. Unless you're just going to offer it as a bonus package for our successful Sweetheart Search clients."

"Oh, we can do that," said Arlene, "but I see it as a full-service on-line wedding-planning dot com. Nationwide. Beyond nationwide."

"So I won't be delivering corsages to Erie, Pennsylvania, the way I'm doing now with the love letters?"

Arlene flicked ashes. "You don't have to be involved at all if you don't want to be, Joe. Besides putting up the seed money and owning the company… and finding us an office."