by
I took the three flights up to my grandfather’s office two steps at a time. That morning, I had completed my first year law school exams. I was jaunty, sure that I had done well, the day was warm and clear, and I wanted no intellectual burdens for a while. I thought an afternoon out watching a ball game with my grandfather was just what I needed. I planned to pick him up, have a quick lunch, and out to Shea Stadium to see the Mets take on the hated Dodgers.
I burst into his office. The sign on the door’s smoked glass read: FRANK WOLF DETECTIVE AGENCY. Grandfather was sitting in his swivel chair with feet propped on his desk cluttered with newspapers, magazines, and books. He was reading a Ross Macdonald novel. Bookcases covered every wall. It was warm in the office, but a single windo
