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Cissy wanted to walk off some of her drink, which suited my plans as well. She’d given my brain a nudge. I went out to the car and got my laptop and a change of clothes. (All I had was an extra tank, button-down shirt and jeans, but Cissy was right—it had to be an improvement over my nasty shorts.) I changed in the coffee shop restroom without dropping any garments in the toilet, then ordered a latte and the simplest pastry I could find. The milk would take the edge off the caffeine, and there wouldn’t be enough sugar in the muffin to make me shake. In theory.
After spending a few minutes catching up on email (i.e., deciding I could ignore most of it), I settled in to see what I could find out about Elise Steinway. I was paranoid enough to not use a paid database to research her befor
