"Can I go with you to your emotional reality class next week?" Isobel asked Nikki, who had come in just before noon and was wearing a sensational pair of lemon yellow leather pants that showed off her long, slender legs.

Nikki raised an eyebrow at Isobel. "Really? You didn't seem so into it when I invited you."

"I've been thinking about it, and, like you said, singers aren't always so truthful in their acting. I really should get back in class."

Nikki considered this a moment, then nodded. "All right, then. But you'll have to ask Frank for the time off. It's from ten to twelve on Monday."

"I can skip lunch on Tuesday and Wednesday. Is it okay if I bring a friend?"

"Terence usually allows only one auditor per class, but I'll ask. Is your friend a singer too?"

Isobel shook her head vigorously. "Not at all."

They worked in silence for a while. Isobel had almost finished uploading and organizing the contents of Doreen's flash drives. There were only a few files left to transfer, but the urge to procrastinate was strong. She considered trying again to see Stan. She had happened by twice already, but both times he was behind closed doors with Frank.

She looked over at Nikki, who was manipulating an incomprehensible spreadsheet on her computer.

"Nikki?"

"Mmmmm."

"Did Doreen have a boyfriend?"

Nikki snorted. "That cow?"

"Somebody might have found her attractive," Isobel said.

"Who? And believe me, from the way that woman talked about sex, it was obvious she wasn't getting any."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice how obsessed she was? Doreen could find sexual innuendo in the most banal sentence. She was always making lewd, insinuating comments about other people's sex lives. And whenever anyone did something she didn't like, she'd threaten to spank them. Believe me, that didn't go down well with Paula."

"We know Stan found her attractive," Isobel reminded her.

"We know Stan married her." Nikki rolled her chair away from her desk to look at Isobel. "Not the same thing. And don't forget, the marriage was annulled. I'm guessing one look at Doreen naked sent Stan running back to City Hall."

"Maybe," Isobel said, "but I still think Doreen must have had somebody."

"What on earth makes you think that?"

Isobel was about to share the diaphragm tidbit with Nikki, but James's warning flashed through her mind. She couldn't quite convince herself that Nikki was dangerous. Still, it was probably best not to confide.

"It just—I don't know—boyfriends and murders seem to go together so often."

"I never heard her on the phone with anyone who could have been a boyfriend," Nikki said. "And her conversations weren't exactly discreet."

Isobel remembered overhearing Doreen massacring metaphors on her first day. Nikki was right; if she'd had a boyfriend, it would hardly have been a secret. But how did that explain the diaphragm?

"You're right. I don't know what I was thinking," Isobel said. She stood up and stretched her legs. "I'm going to take a little break."

Now that she'd exhausted every possible distraction except trying Stan again, she headed back his way. Maybe he and Doreen had had some kind of latter-day reconciliation and were finally consummating their non-marriage. In any case, there was a reasonable chance that he held the key to the diaphragm, whether Doreen was putting it in for him or for someone he was jealous of.

Conchita Perez was seated at her desk, her eyes closed, her head tilted toward the ceiling, and her lips moving in a silent appeal. She opened one eye when she heard Isobel approach.

"Hola," Isobel said cheerily.

"Hello."

"Is Stan...?" Isobel noticed that Frank's office door was open now and Stan's was closed.

"He's in his office and doesn't want to be disturbed."

"I just wanted to see if there's anything he needs," Isobel said.

Conchita bristled. "I'm his assistant."

"I know," Isobel said quickly, "but on the first day, I did a few memos for him, and I thought maybe—"

"That was only because I was out. He doesn't need anything from you," Conchita said, with surprising force.

For the first time, Isobel caught a steely determination in Conchita's eyes, and she decided not to press her luck. She pointed at Frank's door instead and lifted her eyebrows at Conchita, as if to ask permission to enter. Conchita shrugged and looked away.

"Frank?" Isobel said, glancing in through the door.

He looked up from his computer. "Yes?"

"Would it be all right if I came in late on Monday morning? I could be here by twelve thirty, and I won't take lunch on Tuesday or Wednesday."

"Is this some acting thing?" he asked, with a disdainful emphasis on the word "acting."

"More or less." But rather less than more, she thought.

"Nikki's out on Monday mornings, so Conchita will have to take all the phones. If it's okay with her, it's okay with me."

Great, thought Isobel. When she returned to Conchita's desk area, she caught sight of Stan retreating into his office. He shut the door firmly behind him once more. Conchita was gazing after him with a wistful expression that easily took five years off her. Isobel cleared her throat.

"Could you cover for me on Monday morning? I'd be happy to return the favor sometime."

Conchita scrunched her eyes and dipped her head to keep the tears from falling.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Isobel.

*  *  *

Without a photo, James couldn't be certain that Annika Franklin and Nikki Francis were the same person. One thing was clear, however; Anna's recollection was correct. According to Temp Zone's records, Annika Franklin, whoever she was, had been fired, first from her position at Credit Exchange Bank, and subsequently from Temp Zone. There were no details about the reason for her dismissal, but there was a note that read, "Do not rehire." Prior to her position at Credit Exchange Bank, she had indeed worked at InterBank Switzerland, although there was no indication that she'd been fired from there. James stepped out into the hall. He could hear the other reps talking among themselves or on the phone, and above them all, Ginger loudly trying to convince someone to take advantage of her services. James returned to his office and closed the door. Then he used his cell phone to dial the number for the director of human resources at Credit Exchange Bank.

"May I speak with Gretchen Bryars?"

"This is she."

"Gretchen, this is James Cooke with," he hesitated ever so slightly, "Temps in Time. We've had an application from someone who worked for you once. Name is Annika Franklin."

"Don't hire her," Gretchen said, firmly and immediately.

"Ah, I thought there might be a problem," James said. "What can you tell me about her?"

"We hired her from an outfit called Temp Zone. They have an excellent reputation, but this woman was bad news. She was an actress, or said she was."

"What exactly did she do? Was there something specific?"

"Absolutely. She stole money."

"Really?" James didn't know what he'd expected to hear, but it wasn't this.

"Yes. Unfortunately, we were never able to prove anything, which is why no charges were pressed. But we're reasonably certain that she was siphoning off cash under cover of the accounting department. She was supposed to be handling receivables, but she was helping herself to the payables, if you know what I mean."

"Why weren't you able to prove anything?" he asked.

"She had created a spurious vendor and cut checks to them. But she set it up very cleverly, with a post office box in another state and checks endorsed with a company stamp."

"What makes you sure it was Nikki—I mean, Annika—if you weren't able to prove it?"

"The rest of the personnel in that department were long-term, full-time employees, and they all claimed they'd never heard of...Computer Accessories, that was the name of it. Plus, the invoicing was all done from her terminal. I suppose we didn't know for sure until we fired her, but it stopped as soon as she left, so you can draw your own conclusions."

"What did she look like?"

"Tall, with long, very straight auburn hair. Sharp dresser. I remember admiring one pair of trousers of hers in particular—leather pants in a buttercup yellow." Gretchen laughed. "Of course, I don't have the figure to pull those off!"

"Do you know what happened to her after she left?" James asked.

"I know Temp Zone let her go. I had a long conversation afterwards with Ginger Wainwright, the owner. She reassured me at great length that her company's reputation came first, and she would never keep on a dishonest employee."

"Do you still use Temp Zone?" he asked. He knew they didn't, but he was curious to hear the reason.

"I don't. Their fees went up, and I get a better deal from Temporama, although honestly, the help isn't as good. Tell me about your outfit. What did you say it was called?"

"Um, Temp..." James scrambled to remember the name he'd made up on the spur of the moment. "Temps..." James quickly hit a button on his keypad. "I'm sorry, Gretchen, but I think I'm getting another call. I appreciate your help. I'm sure we won't be hiring her."

"Oh, one other thing," James heard Gretchen say, as he was about to hang up. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"You referred to her as Nikki," she continued. "That's what she was called here, as well. Nobody ever called her Annika."

James smiled triumphantly and fist-pumped the air. "Thank you, Gretchen. Thank you very much."