I handed her my private investigator’s license. She looked at it for a minute.

“You’re not police.”

“But I work for them.” I decided it was best to be honest with her.

“Prove it.”

“Tomorrow, at lunch, come with me and I’ll introduce you to my contact.” I wasn’t sure Ranson would approve of that, but I was sure she wanted to know what was in that locked drawer.

“I can’t. I’ve got to go to the bakery and get something for the party after Patrick’s show.” I gave her my there-you-have-it look and shrugged my shoulders. “I can’t believe this,” she continued. “Drug smuggling and murders are something from T.V. It doesn’t happen in my life. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” She shook her head.

“Not real? Ever seen a junkie?”

“Well…yes, but…”

“Where do you think they get their dope? Does the stork bring it?”

“No…still…”

“How old is Patrick? And your other kid?”

“What? He’s eleven. Cissy’s nine.”

“Do you worry about them?”

“Of course, I worry.”

“About doing drugs?”

“No, I hope I’ve taught them better than that.” I looked at her, not believing that no. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “You can’t live today and not worry…I still don’t know.”

But she was wavering. I decided to try a little logic.

“Look, there’s a locked file drawer that…”

“None of them are locked,” she broke in. “I have access to them all.”

“At the end, where you found me. The bottom one under Z.”

“But that’s not used.”

“So why is it locked?” She looked puzzled, searching for an innocuous reason to explain the drawer being locked.

She finally replied, “I don’t know. Are you sure it’s locked and not just stuck?”

“Positive.”

“That’s strange,” she said, more to herself than to me. “I can’t think what might be in it.”

“There’s one way to find out. Let’s look.”

“How? It’s locked.”

“File cabinet drawers are very easy to pick, if you know how.”

She thought about this for a while before she said, “All right. But I have to be there to make sure that’s all you do.”

“If you insist. And if we find what I think we may find, I’ll let you go with me to the police. If not, we’ll probably find out what Milo’s taste in porn is.” Milo was Barbara’s boss. And possibly Mr. Big.

“You think?” She laughed. Barbara had a deep hearty laugh. I liked this woman. I was much happier making her laugh than making her scared. “Now, that would be worth all this,” she added.

“Sorry,” I said, thinking of the bruises that I must have given her. “I don’t really like tackling people in the dark.”

“Oh, I didn’t even mean that. I just meant my two years on this job. Milo can be a real pain in the neck.” She signaled the waiter for another round. “So what do you think he’s into?” she continued.

“Kinky, very kinky.”

“I almost hope it is porn. I’ll get my thrill of the…year,” she said in that slightly disparaging voice used by women who don’t think they’re quite pretty enough.

“Of the year? I don’t believe that.” I didn’t. Women with the kind of eyes Barbara Selby had should have no problem with being unwillingly celibate.

“Believe it. It’s true.” The waiter brought us our drinks. “I’m on the wrong side of forty, size fourteen, and I’ve got two kids. Men may tell you they’re interested in your mind, but only if you’ve got a body like yours to go with it.” There was no bitterness in her voice, just a shrug and acceptance. Barbara struck me as one of those people who get on with life as best they can, no matter what it throws at them.

“But you have beautiful eyes,” I blurted out, “like a horse that knows so much more than the rider she’s stuck with. That’s a compliment, although it may not sound like one. Brown and so deep you could fall into them.” That was a line Danny had used on me that summer we had been lovers. I stole it because it said what I meant better than I could.

She laughed an embarrassed laugh, like I had that summer. “Thank you. Give an old lady some vicarious thrills. Tell me about all the men you have panting after you.”

“Me?” I was too tall, too dark, and had hair that went in every direction but fashionable. I had always been left on the sidelines at school dances. Aunt Greta thinks I became a lesbian because there was no one to dance with me in high school.

“Yes, you. Now that you’ve embarrassed me about my dirt brown eyes, I need something to embarrass you about. You must have a boyfriend.”

“No.”

“In between?”

“Sort of.” The devil and the deep blue sea.

“So tell me the details of your last affair. The hot gossip among my friends concerns Little League coaches and PTA presidents. Not together.” I sat still. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Am I mucking about in something that you’re not interested in taking lightly?” She looked very concerned, mistaking my silence for a broken heart. “Why did he leave you?” she asked kindly. “Or should we just not talk about it?”