The moment of truth had arrived.

Cole Rafferty took a deep breath, trying to focus. Everything depended on that moment.

The muscles in his shoulders tensed to the maximum as he aimed.

Then he raised his arm and fired.

The paper ball flew toward the basketball hoop hanging on the door. If he got that point, his team would win the America's Cup... no, the World Cup.

He was already raising his arms in victory when the door opened, pushing out the ball of paper, which fell, inert, onto the carpet.

"Foul!" he shouted.

Ethel Markowitz bent down, the seams of her yellow polyester tracksuit nearly bursting, to retrieve the paper ball.

-Trash.

—Give me the ball, Ethel. I'm playing.

She crumpled the ball and shot backwards.

—That net hanging from the door is very unprofessional. Plus, it's covered in dust. I should wipe it down...

"Don't touch my basket, Ethel," he interrupted. "I've already told you that being a private investigator is very stressful. I need to relax."

—If you relax any more, I'll have to take your pulse.

"Spoken like a devoted secretary," Cole smiled.

The woman looked at him over her bifocals.

—Your father thought he was. I worked with him for thirty-five wonderful years... and he never put his foot down.

—Because I was afraid of you, Ethel. But I know you're a candid soul.

—I'm a sixty-two-year-old spinster who wears orthopedic shoes.

Do you understand, Mr. Rafferty?

"I understand, yes," Cole smiled.
Ethel took a notebook out of her pocket.

—More messages?

—This time there were only three.

—I don't want to know anything.

—Miss Abigail Collins collects edible underwear and wants to know its favorite flavor. Penny Biggs wants to introduce her to her parents, and a woman named Rita is planning... and I quote, "a hell of a honeymoon," thanks to her cellmate's suggestions.

"My father is getting worse every day," Cole sighed.

—Because he's a good father who only thinks about you. Do you know how hard he worked to write that ad? How much he wants you to settle down and give him grandchildren?

—What if I buy him a hamster so he has something to do?

Ethel looked at him again over her glasses.

—It was a joke, woman.

—You don't pay me to waste your time, Mr. Rafferty.

—I don't pay you to write ads and post them in the personals section either.

Ethel didn't exactly blush, but the gleam in her eyes gave her away. She was her father's accomplice.

Since retiring, Rex Rafferty had been spending all his time interfering in her life. He'd signed her up for pottery classes, given her books on how to woo a woman... And the week before, he'd placed an ad in the Denver Post proclaiming that Cole was desperately looking for a girlfriend.