"So I've heard."

"What about you?" she asked. "How'd you become a detective. That's a weird way to make a living, isn't it?"

She was becoming real chatty now that I was on my way out and I wondered if I might pump her for more information. She seemed eager to prolong the contact, like someone who's been cooped up too long with a pack of preschool kids.

"I sort of backed into detective work," I said, "but it beats selling shoes. You don't work yourself?"

"Not me. I'm retired. I don't ever want to work again."

"You're lucky. I don't have much choice. If I don't work, I don't eat."

She smiled for the first time. "I used to spend my life waiting for a break. Then I figured out I better make my own luck, you know what I mean? Nobody gives you nothing in this world, that's for sure."

I feigned agreement, glancing down toward the parking lot.

"I better be on my way," I said. "But could I ask you one more thing?"

"Like what."

"Do you know Elaine's other friends? There must be someone who knows how to get in touch with her, don't you think?"

"I'm the wrong one to ask," she said. "She used to visit me down in Lauderdale, so I don't know friends of hers up here."

"How'd you connect up this time? I understand she flew down almost on impulse."

She seemed momentarily perplexed at that, but regained her composure. "Yeah, that's right, she did. She called me from the airport in Miami and then picked me up on her way through."

"In a rented car?"

"Yeah. An Oldsmobile Cutlass. White."

"How long was she here then before she took off?"

Pat shrugged again. "I don't know. Not long. A couple of days, I guess." "Did she seem at all nervous or upset?"