Before I could say anything, a big man in a blue suit came hurrying out of the office at the back.

Phil Harmon. General manager of Sterling Motors of Scottsdale. Rita had shown me his photo.

“Joe!” he said, beaming, with both hands out. “Joe Callahan! What an honor. I've seen your vans all over the city for years. Welcome to Sterling!”

He shook my hand like he was pumping water from a well.

Brent's face did something I'll never forget.

First it went white. Then red. Then a sort of gray-green, like milk that's been left out in the sun.

“Mr.… Callahan,” he said.

“Hi, Brent,” I said. “We met on Saturday. You told me deliveries go through the side door.” Phil Harmon's smile wobbled. He looked from me to Brent.

“What's this?”

Courtney stepped forward quickly.

“Phil, it's just a silly misunderstanding. Mr. Callahan came in on Saturday without an appointment, and he wasn't—well, we didn't know who he was.”

“No,” I said. “You didn't.”

I looked at the champagne. At the red carpet. At the pastries.

“And that's the whole point,” I said.