“That’s private household bookkeeping,” Eleanor said.

“Those are my business flight schedules for November,” I said.

“Where did you get those exact times?”

“A home can’t run properly when people come and go like they’re staying in a hotel,” she said.

I turned the silver ring on my right thumb three times while I did the math.

The entry for November twelfth showed a landing time of six forty-five at O’Hare, a detail my executive assistant had locked in only thirty-six hours earlier.

“Did you take that itinerary out of my desk drawer?” I asked.