Three wrapped spearmint candies sat at the bottom, their green cellophane faded pale from decades on the shelf.

“Take one,” Arthur said.

“The accountant across the hall brought them over when Jimmy Carter was still running the country.”

I picked up a mint, felt the hard square through the crinkly wrapper, and slipped it into my coat pocket.

“Can you run a background check on her?” I asked.

“Can you find out if she ever filed real papers?”

Arthur folded his cloth napkin into a flat square, pressing each crease down with his thumb.