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“What do you want?” Dinah snapped.

“Two coffees with milk and sugar to go.”

“For the takeaway window you make a left out the door and then left again.” She looked at me, raising her eyebrows.

“But I’m late,” he said. “Just do this now and I’ll use the window after.”

“You’ll use the window now. There’s a big sign and I don’t like doin’ the takeaway.”

“That’s not a very people-oriented business practice,” he judged.

“Neither is knockin’ you upside the head, but I will do just that if you don’t move yer privileged ass.”

A flash of anger passed over the young man’s face. He glanced at me and I shook my head—ever so slightly. I’m pretty big and almost as strong as Dinah, so he took the hint and left, muttering wordless complaints.

“You didn’t have to bother yourself, Mr. Oliver,” Dinah said when he was gone. “I can take care of myself.”

“I wasn’t worried about you, girl. I just didn’t want to have to be a witness after you broke his nose and he called the police.” This was true.

Dinah laughed and we took a breath to find the thread of our conversation again.

“Have you seen my grandmother lately, D.?”

“She comes over for a smoke most afternoons unless it’s rainin’ or too cold. We go out back while Moira serves the late crowd.”

“How does she seem?”

“Wise as a prophet and crafty as a fox. She wishes that your uncle would come by.”

“He’s always working,” I said.

Uncle Rudolph was in Attica, imprisoned there for an insurance scam so complex that the prosecutors were never able to pin down the exact amount he’d embezzled.

“Oh well,” Dinah opined. “At least Brenda has you.”

“May I help you?” a good-figured blonde asked. She was standing behind the reception counter of the upscale retirement residence. I was liking her style.

In her forties and proud, she wore a green-and-pink-speckled silk blouse to accent a tight black skirt.

Some women just don’t get old.

“Joe Oliver,” I said. “I’m here to see my grandmother.”

“Does she work for one of the patients?” Blondie asked, as easy as if she were talking about the weather.

“No.” I was losing the edge of my attraction.

“Um…” She was really confused. “Does she work for the facility?”

“She’s a resident,” I said. “Brenda Naples. Room twenty-seven oh nine.”

For a moment the receptionist, whose name tag read THALIA, doubted me. But then she worked a little magic on the iPad registry.

“She is here,” Thalia said.

“Has been since before you,” I said, “and will be long after you have moved back to New Jersey.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Oliver.”