It was a few minutes before noon. I was hungry. I bought a large chocolate-covered-cherry Blizzard and a deluxe burger and thanked Dave for sending me a client.

“Lady needs help,” he said. “Kid running away like that. I see a lot of those kids.”

Dave was probably around my age, but years in the sun working on boats in the bay had tanned his skin dark. His body was hard and strong, but his face had gone to sun-fried hell.

“I think I can find her,” I said while he prepared the burger and shake.

“Kids,” Dave said with a shake of the head.

When my order came up I showed Adele’s photograph to Dave. He looked at it for a while and squinted in thought.

“Yeah, the lady showed it to me. I don’t think I’ve seen her,” he said, “but who knows? She cuts her hair, maybe dyes it, puts on a lot of makeup, orders a Dilly Bar and off she goes. I could have her picture right in front of me and not recognize her. Who knows?”

“Thanks, Dave,” I said, taking my Blizzard and burger.

“Who knows?” he repeated. “You know what I mean?”

• “I know,” I said. “You know anything about a guy named Carl Sebastian?”

“Know of him,” said Dave. “Big money, property, real estate, all over the Herald-Tribune society pages, always in Marjorie North’s column with his wife, a real looker.”

“You read the society pages?”

Dave shrugged.

“What can I say? I’m a reader. I read the Wheaties box in the morning. Read an article in some magazine this morning about the history of cod fishing. You know the Basques used to be great cod fishermen. Read the label on the jar of Dundee marmalade while I was having breakfast this morning. You know, the white jar?”

“Yeah.”