I put the phone down firmly and smiled politely at my visitor. She didn't smile back. I just knew we were going to get along. She looked pointedly at the murmuring television on my desk, and I turned it off.

"It's company," I said calmly. "Much like a dog, but with the added advantage that you don't have to take it for walks."

"Don't you ever go home?" Her tone made it clear she was asking for information, not because she cared.

"I am currently in between homes. Big, empty, expensive things. Besides, I like it here. Everything's within reach, and nobody bothers me when the day's over. Usually."

"I know it's late. I didn't want to be seen coming here."

"I can understand that."

She sniffed briefly. "You have a hole in your office door, Mr. Taylor."

I nodded. "Moths."

The corners of her dark red mouth turned down, and for a moment I thought she was going to get up and leave. I have that effect on people. But she controlled herself and gave me her best intimidating glare.

"I'm Joanna Barrett."

I nodded, non-commitally. "You say that like it should mean something to me."

'To anyone else, it would," she said, just a little acidly. "But then, I don't suppose you read the business pages, do you?"

"Not unless someone pays me to. Am I to take it you're rich?"

"Extremely."

I grinned. "The very best kind of client. What can I do for you?"

She shifted slightly in her chair, clutching her oversized white leather handbag protectively to her. She didn't want to be here, talking to the likes of me. No doubt usually she had people to take care of such unpleasant tasks for her. But something was eating at her. Something personal. Something she couldn't trust to anyone else. She needed me. I could tell. Hell, I was already counting the money.

"I have need of a private investigator," she said abruptly. "You were ... recommended to me."