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“We haven’t set the date yet, so don’t worry ‘bout that,” Eberhardt said. “You’re gonna be my best man. Wouldn’t have anybody else.” Whispers and giggles in the background. “Got to go now, paisan. You tell Kerry, huh? Four of us’ll get together real soon. Want you both meet Wanda right away.”

He hung up. I hung up too, and stood there trying to get my mouth closed. Eberhardt and Wanda-from-Macy’s. Married. Jesus Christ!

Mrs. McCone was looking at me. “Did you have some bad news?” she asked solicitously.

“I’m not sure yet,” I said, “but I think so.”

Mr. McCone had begun singing again outside:

Yeah, I thought, and his name sure as hell isn’t Eberhardt.

Mrs. McCone frowned and shut the window. Then she said, “Well, I’m sure everything will work out for you. I just hope it does for Sharon. She really does need a man to look after her. Marriage would settle her down—”

“I heard that, Ma,” Sharon’s voice said from the doorway. She came waddling in on her cane; in spite of the gunk on her blistered face, she looked pretty good for a member of the walking wounded. “Why do you have to keep pushing marriage all the time? I’m not even sure I want to get married.”

“Marriage is what God meant for all of us,” Mrs. McCone said. “Sooner or later.”

Even Wanda the Footwear Queen, I thought gloomily.

Sharon went to the refrigerator, poured herself a glass of white wine, then perched gingerly on a chair opposite me. “Has Ma been giving you a hard time, Wolf?” she asked.

“I don’t give people a hard time,” Mrs. McCone said before I could think of an answer. “You’re the one who gives people a hard time. If it weren’t for this nice man I’d be getting ready for your funeral right now.”

“Ma...”

“Why don’t you work together, you and him? Go into partnership, I mean. I’ll bet that would keep you out of trouble.”

“Wolf already has a partner. Besides, a partnership is like a marriage, which I’ve already told you I’m not ready for.”

“I still think you’d make a good team,” Mrs. McCone said stubbornly. “You solved all those murders together, didn’t you?”

“More or less,” I said. “But neither of us made a dime out of it. In fact, we both lost money on a week’s worth of expenses.”

“So you’ll never work together again?”

McCone and I looked at each other. “Never,” I said, and she said, “Not a chance.” And then we both laughed and raised our drinks to each other.

You never know what might happen. If we ever did work together again, one thing was certain: it would definitely be interesting...