In this particular instance, however, the fact that there was no way she was about to let me in the door with a lit cigar was only one of a trio of reasons I had for being parked on the cement stairs of our modest, suburban Saint Louis home this warm, late summer’s evening. The second and most important reason for smoking outside was that we had only recently discovered that Felicity was six weeks pregnant. The third-I was waiting for someone.

Earlier in the day, I had received a phone call from my long time cohort, Ben Storm, a detective with the Saint Louis City police department. Since he had a tendency to work somewhat bizarre hours, I was pleasantly surprised when he suggested that he drop by this evening for an impromptu drink to congratulate us on our impending family addition. I was more than agreeable to the idea; unfortunately, the tone of his voice told me there was an underlying, less social reason for the visit. His inflection only confirmed a suspicion that had been nagging at me for nearly two days now.

Late Wednesday night I had received a short, cryptic call from a distracted and extremely official sounding version of my friend. He had been seeking information about the meaning of a religious symbol known as a Pentacle. Though I knew he was perfectly aware of my religious practices, I was mildly amazed he had equated me with the emblem. In keeping with his official demeanor that night, as soon as I finished giving him the requested details, he abruptly ended the call with curt politeness.

When we spoke again today, I was sure I had detected a definite note of that same distraction in his voice. I hoped that I was wrong but deep inside felt that I wasn’t. However, on the chance that I might have misinterpreted the tenor of his speech, I had kept the observation to myself, mentioning it neither to him nor Felicity.