“How can she be ‘sort of’?” Elizabeth said.

“We’re not married,” I said.

“But?”

“But we’ve been together a considerable time,” I said.

“And you love her,” Elizabeth said.

“I do.”

“And she loves you.”

“She does.”

“Then why don’t you get married?” Elizabeth said.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She stared at me. I smiled pleasantly. She frowned a little.

“Was there anything else?” I said.

She smiled suddenly. It was a good look for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I was trying to find out a little about your attitude toward women and marriage.”

“I try to develop my attitudes on a case-by-case basis,” I said.

She nodded, thinking about it.

“Rita says there’s no one better if the going gets rough.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How about if the going isn’t rough?” Elizabeth said.

“There’s still no one better,” I said.

“Rita mentioned that you didn’t lack for confidence.”

“Would you want someone who did?” I said.

I must have passed some kind of initial screening. She shifted in her chair slightly.

“Everything I tell you,” she said, “must, of course, remain entirely confidential.”

“Sure.”

She looked at Susan’s picture again.

“That’s a very beautiful woman,” she said.

“She is,” I said.

She shifted again in her chair.

“I have a client, a woman, married, with a substantial trust fund, given to her by her husband as a wedding present. We manage the trust for her, and over the years she and I have become friendly.”

“He gave her a trust fund for a present?”

Elizabeth smiled.

“The rich are very different,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “They have more money.”

“Well,” she said. “A literate detective.”

“But self-effacing.”

She smiled again.

“My client’s name is Abigail Larson,” Elizabeth said. “She is considerably younger than her husband.”