“Hmmph,” she said. “It doesn’t seem right to me, you taking money and not delivering.”

“I’m successful most of the time.” I tried not to let fatigue make me cranky-she wasn’t the first person to raise this point. “But it wouldn’t be fair to say I always am able to find out what someone wants to know. After my first inquiry, I can estimate the amount of time it will take to complete the investigation: sometimes people see that as more than they’re willing to invest. You may decide that, too.”

“And you’d still keep Isaiah’s five hundred dollars.”

“Yes. He’s hiring my professional expertise. I get paid for providing that. Just as a doctor does, even when she can’t cure you.” It’s taken years in the business to become hard-hearted-or maybe headed-about asking for money without embarrassment.

I told them if they wanted to talk it over some more they could call me when they’d made a decision, but that I wouldn’t take the uncle’s policy or make any phone calls until they’d signed a contract. Isaiah Sommers said he didn’t need more time, that his cousin’s neighbor Camilla Rawlings had vouched for me and that was good enough for him.

Margaret Sommers folded her arms across her chest and announced that as long as Isaiah understood he was paying for it, he was free to do as he pleased; she wasn’t keeping books for that mean old Jew Rubloff to throw her money away on Isaiah’s useless family.

Isaiah gave her a hard look, but he signed both contracts and pulled a roll from his trousers. He counted out five hundred dollars in twenties, watching me closely while I wrote out a receipt. I signed the contracts in turn, giving one back to Isaiah, putting the other with the policy in my case. I jotted down his aunt’s address and phone number, took the details for the funeral parlor, and got up to leave.