He thought about it briefly. "She's already in more trouble than she knows. If she's up there, the best thing for all of us is to have Reno PD pick her up."

"That's one approach," I said. "On the other hand, you still need her cooperation. I'm thinking about driving up to Reno and talking her into coming back – assuming I can find her."

"Does Holloway know she's gone?"

"I doubt it, but Reba doesn't see her until Monday, which means we have five days before she'll be missed. I'd hate to do anything behind Priscilla's back so you can tell her if you like. Or…"

"Or what?"

"You can run it by your IRS buddies and see what they have to say. Maybe her value to them takes precedence and they can square it with her PO. There's plenty of time to tell Priscilla once Reba's been debriefed."

"Give me the number in Reno and I'll get back to you."

"Why don't you talk to Vince first and then I'll give you the number. We can work it out from there."

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course I trust you. He's the one I'm worried about."

"What about tonight? You want to meet me at Rosie's? I've got a couple of reports to write, but it shouldn't take me long."

"Sounds good."

"I'll be there in a bit."

I left my front door ajar and crossed the patio to Henry's. His kitchen door was open and I knocked on the frame. "Henry? It's me."

"Come on in. I'll be right there," he said.

He had a pot of homemade soup simmering on a back burner and I took that as a good sign. Henry seldom cooks or bakes when he's feeling down. His glass of Black Jack over ice was sitting on the kitchen table, the newspaper neatly folded and waiting in his rocking chair. A newly opened bottle of Chardonnay was sitting in a cooler on the counter. He appeared from the hallway with a stack of clean towels. "You should have poured yourself some wine. I opened that for you. Something I want to talk to you about. You have a few minutes?" He put the towels in a kitchen drawer and took a wineglass out of the kitchen cabinet and filled it halfway.

"Thanks. I have all the time you need. I've been feeling out of touch. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. What about you?" He resumed his seat in the rocking chair and took a sip of his drink.

"I'm good," I said. "Now that we've cleared that pithy matter, you want to tell me what's on your mind?"

He smiled. "Here's what I've been considering. I don't think there's any remedy for my relationship with Mattie. At the moment, she's calling the shots and I don't feel I can impose if she's not interested. That's the way of the world. We didn't know each other long and there are all kinds of reasons it couldn't work – age, geography – the particulars aren't relevant. What I realize is I enjoyed having someone in my life. It put a spring in my step, even at the age of eighty-seven. So I've been thinking it wouldn't be such a terrible idea to make a phone call or two. There were several women on the cruise who seemed lively and nice. Mattie may be one of a kind, but that's beside the point." He paused. "That's as far as I got, but I'd be interested in your thoughts on the matter."

"I think it sounds great. I remember after you got home, you had all kinds of women leaving messages on your machine."

"Embarrassed me."

"Why?"

"I'm old-fashioned. I was taught men should be the pursuers, not the other way around."

"Times have changed."

"For the better?"

"Perhaps. You meet someone you like, why not make an effort? There's nothing wrong with that. If it works, it works, and if it doesn't, oh well."

"That's what I've been thinking. There's a woman named Isabelle, who lives here in town. She's eighty, which is a little closer to my age. She loves to dance, which I haven't done for ages. And another woman, Charlotte. She's seventy-eight and still active in real estate. She lives in Olvidado, close enough," he said. "You think one at a time might be good?"

"Nothing wrong with both. Get your feet wet. The more the merrier."

"Good. Then that's what I'll do." He clicked his glass against mine. "Wish me luck."

"All the luck in the world." I leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

I sat in my favorite booth in Rosie's, the one in the rear where I can sip a glass of wine while I keep a close eye on the place. I've been a regular at the tavern for seven years and I still can't tell you the names of the day-drinkers or the other steady customers like me. Rosie's the only common thread, and I suspect if the other patrons and I compared notes, we all have the same complaint. We'd grouse at how she bullies us, but we'd all feel smug, seeing her mistreatment as a sign of just how special we are to her. William was working behind the bar. I'd stopped off on the way in and picked up the wine he poured when he saw me enter. He was busy, otherwise, I was certain, he'd have given me the latest in his medical reports.