Aces and Knaves

certainly was because of the information he had confided in me.
    Okay, get a grip, Karl. You need a plan. First, I had to call Emerge, the nonprofit organization I volunteered at on Tuesday afternoons and tell them I couldn't make it today. One reason I hated to do this was because they needed me. Emerge helped people who for one reason or another had not had a job for a period of time, often years, and prepared them to re-enter the job market. Some were homeless; some had been in prison; many had drug or alcohol-related problems, but were now clean.
    The Emerge staff and volunteers presented classes on locating job opportunities, interviewing and resume writing. They maintained a closet full of used clothes in good condition, suitable for wearing to interviews. They placed telephones and fax machines at the disposal of the clients. And computers. I had assembled some of their client computers from various components. I also taught computer classes and gave individual instruction on using Microsoft Word and other word-processing programs.
    I hoped I would only miss one session. I decided to make my phone call do double duty. When the man at the reception desk—a former client—answered I asked for Esther Rodriguez. She was the other reason I hated to cancel.
    After a short wait I heard the familiar voice: "Hello, this is Esther." She had no trace of an accent, remarkable because her parents spoke very little English.
    "Hi, it's Karl," I said. After some preliminaries, I asked, "How are the ticket sales on the Boxster going?" Esther was Director of Development for Emerge—which means she was in charge of raising the money to keep it running. A responsible job for someone so young, but she was good at it.
    "We're getting a decent response on the mail solicitation, but we need to do better. I'm counting on you for a big finish Saturday at our fundraiser. You're such a good salesman."
    It was going to be a gala event. Nine-hundred-fifty people had purchased tickets, defying all expectations. "I'm looking forward to it. But I'm afraid something came up and I'll have to cancel our lunch today. And my computer session." I owed her a better explanation than that. "It's...it's a family matter."
    "Nothing wrong, I hope?"
    "No no. Just something I have to do." She didn't know who my father was and I didn't want to say any more. "I'll miss seeing you."
    "I'll miss you, too."
    The honey in her voice made me shiver. Sometimes after I did my thing with clients and computers, if she didn't have to work late we went to her apartment and cooked dinner together. And after dinner...well, let's just say that she had satin skin. But no dinner with Esther today. I forced myself to get back on track and hung up after a few more sentences.
    I got on the computer and played a quick game of hearts. That's my tension reliever. I had bad luck and ate the queen of spades a couple of times, but then I shot the moon and beat the three computer-generated players, as I usually do. All in less than five minutes.
    I checked my email and then shut down the computer. I picked up my phone again and punched in the number my father had given me for Arrow, wondering about the origin of her name.
    "Arrow speaking."
    The voice was louder than Esther's, more businesslike.
    "Hi, this is Karl Patterson."
    "You sound like your father."
    She spoke rapidly and with assurance.
    "We're supposed to get together."
    "How about the Norms on PCH in half-an-hour?"
    "Uh...I guess that would be all right."
    "Do you need 45 minutes?"
    "No...no; half an hour's fine. How will I know you."
    "Don't worry, I'll know you."
    ***
    Half an hour didn't give me much time. I didn't feel the need to wear my one and only suit, but I did put on a decent pair of slacks and a sport shirt. And shoes. You can't go to business meetings barefoot. I grabbed a yellow lined pad and the gold Cross pen I had found on the beach. As I was about to descend the stairs for the fourth time that morning I heard a splash through my open window.
    I went to the window and my suspicions were confirmed. Jacie was taking her morning swim. And she didn't wear a swimsuit. She was oblivious to the morning coolness—and to me. I had to pass the swimming pool to get to the garage. I was trapped in my own house. I hesitated, not wanting to be late, then thought, what the hell. If she didn't care why should I?
    At least she never bothered to check whether I was home before taking her swim. I always felt guilty