Martin stood in the kitchen drinking a glass of tea while he mulled this over. “I’ve got to go back up there and speak to her again,” he said abruptly. “Get some of this settled. We still going to the Lowrys‘?”

“I don’t think we can put it off. Regina seems all right about us going, and you know how touchy Catledge is.”

“Okay. I’ll just be a minute or two with her, then I’ll come in and shower.” Thunking his glass down on the counter, he marched out again into the gathering dark and dripping rain. His white hair gleamed through the darkness.

I went upstairs to finish getting ready. As I put on makeup and jewelry and pinned my hair out of my face with a pretty black-and-gold comb, I wondered if Martin would be able to winkle any more out of his niece than I had. Martin is far more likely to ask direct questions than I am.

But he didn’t look satisfied when he trudged up the stairs twenty minutes later. He looked tired and worried.

After giving me a quick kiss on the neck, Martin unzipped his pants and sat on the bed to untie his shoes.

“Hey, sailor, how about it?” I asked, in my best Mae West voice.

Martin flashed me a smile. He glanced at the bedside clock. “Afraid we don’t have time,” he said regretfully. “I have to shower. Two people in the meeting smoked.”

Martin hates the smell of smoke clinging to his hair and clothes.

“You could have asked them not to,” I said mildly. Martin’s asking might as well be called telling: He was the boss.

“They’re going to retire at the new year,” he said. “If that weren’t the case, I would have kicked their asses out in the hall. As of January one, I’m going to make the entire plant a smoke-free zone.”