Julian walked into my kitchen without calling out.

Water dripped off the hem of his dark trench coat onto my linoleum.

“You left a bowl of soup on our porch,” Julian said, laying a leather folder on the kitchen table.

“Victoria felt bad about turning you away, but Chloe was sound asleep.”

“I talked to Arthur Pendelton today,” I said, shutting off the faucet.

Julian lifted his right hand and adjusted his watch strap, tightening the leather band one notch before laying his wrist back on the table.

“Arthur is an old lawyer who charges seventy dollars an hour to tell people what they want to hear,” Julian said smoothly.