“I’m going to keep my eyes open,” I said.

“And I’m going to let her think she’s winning.”

I reached into my coat pocket and took out the heavy cream paper I’d picked up off the country club rug.

I pressed out the crease down its middle.

The black ink of the signature caught the light from the ceiling fixture.

The thick loops of the letters matched the blue stationery exactly.

I folded the vendor contract back up and tucked it into my purse.