Page 26

Harry didn’t usually meet clients for the first time outside his office.

His office wasn’t just for conducting business — it was his place of safety. His Fortress of Solitude, as it were, even though it was just a rented room above Tee Tee’s DD’s.

This time, however, his new potential client had insisted on meeting outdoors — in public — in full view of anyone passing by. It made Harry uncomfortable.

The thing about Wilmington was its numerous dichotomies: urban decay coupled with urban renewal. Green spaces pressed against decay. Business and commerce pressed against, well… more decay.

Maybe it wasn’t a dichotomy at all — maybe it was just pure urban decay.

But the Wilmington Riverfront was nice.

Harry waited on a bench overlooking the river, eating an ice cream.

“Harry? Harry Bowels?” a young woman called hesitantly.

Harry turned his head and saw her — a personification of Wilmington itself: a well-put-together face framed by clothes that looked like they’d been run over by an Abrams tank. Late teens. Pretty. But haggard.

“Yes,” Harry said, scooting to the side to give her room. “Mrs… Extenso?”

He wasn’t sure he had the name right. Thankfully, she nodded.

“Bajo Extenso,” she said, sitting down without offering a hand. It might’ve been because the ice cream was melting down Harry’s fingers.

Harry studied her a moment. Her earrings didn’t match. It looked like she’d used different lipstick on her upper and lower lips. And she refused to look him in the eye.

Then again, Harry thought, maybe that was because of the melting ice cream.

He tried to casually lick a drip from his hand and nearly poked himself in the eye with the cone.

“Why do you need a detective, Mrs… Miss? Extenso.”

That earned the faintest hint of a smile.
“Miss,” she confirmed. Then: “I need you to help me find my father.”

Harry frowned. “Did he go missing?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean… I never knew him. But I think I know who he is.”

Harry cringed a little inside. No — he cringed a lot. Family cases were worse than cheating spouses; kids weren’t to blame, and they always got hurt.

“Let’s start there,” Harry said. He tossed the ice cream into the trash and wiped his hands with napkins. “Who do you believe he is?”

The girl paused, then finally turned to meet his eyes.

“You.”