Alex slipped out of the apartment early, sunglasses and hat in place, heading over to the corner of 81st and Fifth to wait for Xander. His great-uncle Homer had invited them for coffee at 8:30, which was both strange and convenient.
Alex had been startled at the evident pleasure in Homer Bencliffe’s voice the previous afternoon when he had learned who his caller was. For a man in his late eighties, he had sounded much younger over the telephone, and had welcomed the news that his only niece’s only son wanted to visit with a colleague to ask him questions about the Bencliffe family’s history.
As he stared up the front of the apartment building, Alex felt his mood lift, and then recognized a wave of emotion rolling over him from behind. This time, however, it wasn’t the heat of anger, but
