The day before the gala went as planned. After I rented a car—with ID that had nothing to do with the real me, or in the name I’d used to rent my hotel room—I spent the morning pretending to be a salesman from company that provided home security. Believe it or not, they do send out representatives to do that. Of course, being two days before Christmas, I didn’t have any luck with my sales pitch. I did, however, talk to several housewives. It seemed that this was an area where women were homebodies, rather than holding down a job. I managed to work in a question or two about other people in the neighborhood who might be interested; specifically the owners of the big house on the corner of the street that I knew was owned by the diplomat. Apparently, bored stay-at-home mothers enjoy gossipin
