A long hot shower boosted my core temperature back to normal. A couple of cold Redhook Ales boosted my core temperament back to merely depressed. Nothing was on the tube. Usually, that wouldn’t prevent me from surfing the channels, anesthetizing myself with thirty-second snatches here and there, until I’d snap out of my TV trance and realize I’d wasted hours of my life. Tonight I preferred to wallow in self-pity without the video anesthesia. Just me and my ale and my problems, which rolled before my eyes in black and white like the closing credits on an old sitcom.

My father was dead and I was officially a thirty-four-year-old orphan. Someone who claims to be related to my father may have killed him and hasn’t been seen for days. The police think I’m a crackpot. And Rachel hadn’t called back all afternoon or so far this evening. My few other friends were with their families or their girlfriends or out on the town looking to strike up new friendships. I suppose I could have gone over to Aunt Shel’s, but I’d rather drink Redhook alone than schnapps with her. Too much nagging.

On the plus side, I did have a bag of diamonds.

I held it up to my right ear and shook it, the now familiar clicking sound comforting. My father hadn’t completely forgotten about me—he hadn’t purposely left me an empty safe deposit box.

Tomorrow morning, I’d find out exactly how much they were worth, although I’m not sure to what extent it would matter. I didn’t have any plans for the money. I had a place to live and enough money for the time being to be able to eat and fill up the car and buy new underwear. Maybe I’d donate some of it, just like my father had. Maybe I could get the Hebrew Home to open up a unit dedicated to jilted husbands who got screwed by their business partners. I popped open another bottle and tilted it back, savoring the cold liquid as it gurgled down my throat.

The doorbell rang. I made no move to get up. It rang again, followed by a rapping. Insistent. I swung my feet off the coffee table and hoisted myself off the couch. Went to the door. Flung it open without bothering to check the peephole. If it was the diamond man come to give me more diamonds, than I would welcome him with open arms.

It was Cyndi from the bank. “Hello, Josh. How are you this evening?” I resisted the urge to shield my eyes from her blinding smile.

“Okay. You?” I asked.

She maintained her smile as she looked past me into the house. “Fine thanks. Sorry to drop by like this. I hope it’s all right.”

“Um, sure. Why not?” Just doing a little wallowing is all.

“Do you mind if I come in?” she asked. In her hand, she carried a leather briefcase.

“Oh. Forgive my lack of manners.” I opened the door fully and swept my arm. “Please, entrez-vous.” Might as well try the French again. Maybe my accent would sound better with a few beers in me.

She giggled and entered. “Nice house. Nice and warm. Your father lived here, didn’t he?”

“That’s right. Where I grew up.”

Cyndi began unbuttoning her coat.

“Can I take that for you?” I asked.

I hung it up in the hall closet, and when I turned around, she’d migrated to the living room. From behind, she looked Stairmaster-fit in a tight black skirt that accentuated the positive. Shiny black leather boots gave her an extra two or three inches. I turned on a couple lamps as I joined her in the living room. I got a good view of her from the front, in a clingy gray turtleneck, and she looked positively spectacular from that angle, too. She could have stepped from the pages of Elle.

“So, what brings you out on such a cold night?”

“I have something for you,” she said, tapping her glossy tapered fingernails on her briefcase.

“Oh?”

She pointed to the bottles of Redhook on the table. “Having a party?”

“No, not really. Care for one?”

“Sure, that would be great.” She sat on the couch and placed her briefcase next to her.

I opened a bottle and handed it over. Picked up the one I’d already started and lowered myself onto the couch beside her. Watched with a great deal of interest as she took a long sip, ruby red lips parted slightly to allow the amber liquid in. She set the bottle down on the coffee table with a little thud. “That hit the spot,” she said, as she hit me with another one of her blazing smiles. “Shall we?”

I stared at her, not sure what she was asking.

She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a manila file folder. Opened it with a graceful turn of a slim, tanned wrist. “Earl told me you came by today. Wanted a different safe deposit box.” She reached over and patted my arm. “I can totally understand. I think it’s the right thing to do. You don’t need anything at all reminding you of your terrible tragedy.”

“Thanks.” I wondered if she made house calls to all the bank’s customers. Seemed a bit unusual, but maybe that’s how she got to be branch manager at such a tender age.

Cyndi angled a piece of paper my way, keeping a fingernail on one corner, anchoring it. “Here’s the rental agreement.”

I leaned in close to read the agreement, and caught a whiff of something floral. Perfume or shampoo. Something delicate and … inviting.

“It’s just a standard agreement. Here,” she said, keeping her finger on the agreement and offering me a pen with her other hand. “Sign right there.” She reached over to indicate where my John Hancock belonged and brushed her arm against mine. Her firm thigh pressed along the length of my leg. Any closer and we’d be slow dancing.

I scrawled my name and leaned back, just a bit.

“Excellent,” she said, as she slid the agreement back into the folder and the folder back into the briefcase. As if by magic, she produced a little envelope with the number 245 on it. “Here’s your key. Box 245. My lucky number.” I could have sworn she winked at me as she said it, but it vanished too quickly to be sure.

“Thanks.”

Cyndi rose and took a few steps farther into the living room, leaving her briefcase on the couch. “This really is a nice house. I can see your father living here,” she said, admiring one of the few pictures on the wall. She nodded at it. “This totally seems like your father’s taste.” It was a picture of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem that he’d brought back from one of his trips there.

I left the couch to get a closer look, although I’d seen it so often I didn’t even notice it anymore. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Most of the stuff was here when I was a kid. I never really thought about it.” I pointed to an old table in the corner with a picture of my father and mother on their wedding day. “That may look like a ‘retro’ table, but it was new when my mother bought it, back in the seventies.”

Cyndi laughed and it came out deep-throated, sexy. She’d finished her art inspection and came closer. “I think it’s so nice of your father to make such generous donations to charity. Even though he was rich, he looked out for the little guy, huh?”

I nodded.

She took another step closer, faced me. With her heels, we were almost nose-to-nose. “I bet you had a great childhood, Josh.”

“The usual, I guess,” I said, as I waved off any further questions about my formative years. It was cold outside, but warming up nicely in here. “So, are you from around here?”

“We moved here when I was about nine,” she said. “I love it here. Don’t you?” She caught my eyes and held them. My breathing became shallower. And faster.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” I gathered myself. “Did, um, you and your boyfriend celebrate New Year’s Eve in high style?” I asked, not sure whom I was channeling. Transparent questions like that weren’t my thing.

Cyndi glanced at the floor, then back at me. Fluttered her lashes going for coy, but it came out closer to predatory. “Oh, I don’t really have a boyfriend, Josh,” she said. “But I’m working on it. Real hard.” She reached out and grasped one of my hands in hers. “And I usually get what I want.”

But was it what I wanted? For an instant, Rachel’s face seemed superimposed upon Cyndi’s body.

The doorbell rang.

Cyndi’s hand jerked back. “Someone’s here.” Her eyes were wide, as if she’d been caught with her red talons in the money drawer at the bank.

“I’ll get it. Just take a minute.” I went to the door and threw it open.

It was Rachel.