Cassie made a mental note. “How about the other one?”

“This was a company—a big corporation. They owned oil fields in a country where the government didn’t like them much. It was going to nationalize. Take everything and tell them to take a hike.”

“He fixed it?” Cassie shook out the folded note. “Gideon Chase fixed it?”

“They’re big buddies now. That government loves the company, and the company loves that government. Hey, you ought to be interested in this. There’s a national theater there, funded by the company. They’re going to—well, never mind. They’ve done a lot of things for the country, and they’re planning a lot more. Why not? They’ve still got the oil.”

“I understand. Is he gay?”

“I don’t know, but three women I know don’t think so.”

Cassie took a minute to digest that. “When he comes on vid, being interviewed on a cable news show or whatever, they always say he’s a philosopher.”

“Right. He is. Sort of quasi-irreligious. God’s quit on us because we quit on Him. He’s written books.”

“I ought to have a look at them,” Cassie said.

She could almost hear Sharon’s shrug. “I don’t think they’ll tell you much about him.”

“Talking to him might tell me a lot.” Cassie glanced at her clock radio.

“I doubt it. Not beyond what I’ve told you. He’s smart, and he’s smart in funny ways. Maybe he’s smart in ways that just about everybody else is as dumb as a box of rocks about. If it tells you more than that, you let me know. Okay?”

BASKIN-ROBBINS was deserted except for the teenager behind the counter. There were a few high stools in front of it, and Cassie sat down. “How late are you open?”

“Midnight.” The girl sounded sleepy and bored.

“It’s almost that now.”

The girl nodded. “I know, ma’am. Just seven more minutes.”

“What would it take to get you to stay open later?”

The girl said nothing.