Chapter 4: Terms

Quincy Moncrieff found me in the club's parking garage, taking a photo of a pillar.

"Why are you photographing a pillar?"

"It's cracked at the base. Level two, bay nineteen."

"Tilda."

"I'm documenting it. In a year somebody will say it was always like that."

I stuck a HAZARD sticker on it and wrote the date.

The clock above the elevator said 3:51.

He stood there in his dark suit with his hands in his pockets, and I could see that he had practiced something on the way down.

"Three times in two years, something has gone missing near Posy and turned up in your bag," he said. "A bracelet. A key card. Today, the pen."

"I noticed it was always my bag."

"The first time, you cried. The second time, you threw a glass at her. Today you read the label to a dining room."

"I'm trying a new approach."

"Which one of them was lying?"

It was a fair question, and I did not have an answer I could say out loud.

So I did what I used to do with a client who wanted to know why the claim was denied.

I took a second sticker, turned it over, and wrote on the back of it with my brow pencil.

"What's that?" he said.

"Terms."

I held it up.

One: No touching.

Two: You don't ask how I know things.

Three: You tell Posy nothing.

Quincy read it with a steady face and then read it again.

"You want me to follow rules written on a sticker."

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