Why were there private investigators taking photographs of my apartment, of my sister?

Why did two of them come into my restaurant, order a four-hundred-dollar dinner, and then vanish and leave me to cover the bill?”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, the sigh of a man who knew that things had gone wrong and was not in the habit of things going wrong.

“I owe you an explanation,” Arthur said, “and an apology, and I intend to give you both.

My investigators were not there to harm you, Evelyn.