“That’s too much,” Parr said. “I knew she was losing some weight, but I should have seen it was that much.”

“It’s been gradual, Jim. I didn’t see it myself until I happened to notice yesterday after all the time I’ve been staying away. So you don’t have to beat yourself up over it. But you’re right, Wyatt, it’s serious enough. She says nothing tastes like anything.”

“Well,” Hunt said, “that lamb sure tasted like something, and so did the pilaf and that salad. Have you been making food like that every night?”

“No.”

“Good. ’Cause if she had that in front of her and didn’t eat it…”

“Well,” Mickey said, “I haven’t been home here a lot the past few months.” He hunched his shoulders. “Without me, I think these guys live on macaroni and cheese, and not much of that.”

“Hey!” Parr said. “I eat an egg every morning.”

“Oh, sorry,” Mickey said. Then, to Hunt, “And Jim here has a whopping large egg every single day, which is why he’s so fit, relatively.”

“Tam doesn’t make a big deal of it,” Parr said. “She just doesn’t put food in her mouth, or not much of it.” Then, again, “I should have noticed.”

“Well,” Hunt said, “we’ve all noticed now.”

And then Tamara was up there with them and everybody had their limoncello in front of them in matching little blue glasses.

And, finally, Hunt got around to Mickey’s suggestion about Como. “I checked after you left, Mick, and you’re right. Nobody’s put up a reward yet.”

“Are you working on that?” Tamara asked.

“Not yet,” Mickey replied.

Hunt went on. “Mickey got the idea that we could drum up some business, go to some of these charities. The good news is I called the PD hotline number this afternoon, and there’s nothing about Como. So, so far, at least, the PD doesn’t have anything special going on around his murder. It’s just an answering machine saying they’ll get back to you. So the door may be open. The bad news is that the door might not necessarily be open for us.”