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Zach rose and went into an office the size of a small warehouse. Or maybe a showroom. There were the usual accoutrements: a wet bar, a life-sized oil painting of the founder himself—looking uncannily like the titular character in “The Princess and the Frog”—and a curio cabinet with vintage toys. Like the things the Beacher Toy Company produced?. The carpet was plush enough to lose your shoes in. On one side of the room, giant picture windows offered a view of the bustling city and, beyond, the Oakland Bay Bridge and the rolling golden hills of Berkeley. The opposite wall was lined with tall walnut shelves displaying Old Timey Fun Ltd.’s greatest hits: plastic snow globes, plastic musical instruments, plushy alien creatures in garish colors, good luck charms, and you name it.

Jordan, strategically positioned behind a megalith-sized desk beneath the spotlight of recessed lighting, did not rise. As Zach approached, he pointed what appeared to be a pink fairy wand with a plastic gold star on the end to the chair in front of his bulwark.

“This is a surprise,” he said. “But then you’re full of surprises, Mr. Davies.”

“Thank you for agreeing to see me on such late notice, sir.”

Jordan grimaced. “How could I resist? I’ve never been questioned by a PI before. I have to say, you don’t look anything like I imagined a private investigator would look.”

“It’s very helpful in my line of work.” Zach sat down in the chair Jordan indicated and was treated to the unmelodic sounds of a whoopee cushion deflating fast.

Jordan bellowed with laughter as Zach shot off of the chair.

“What the—?”

“Oh my God.Your face,” howled Jordan. “That’s priceless!”

Zach collected himself, managed a lofty, “I guess we’re both having our expectations realigned.”

“HAR HAR HAR,” roared Jordan, wiping his eyes. “You’re sodignified. Oh my God.”

Zach snatched up the whoopee cushion and tossed it into the chair next to his. He sat gingerly down again. “I’m trying to be polite.”

Jordan tossed his fairy wand on the desk. “Don’t bother. My feelings toward you aren’t polite.”

“Okay, I realize you’re a friend of Zora Kaschak-Beacher. And I know Alton has—had—an unsavory reputation. But my relationship with him was entirely professional. He hired me to find out who was sending him death threats. That’s it. There was no…no…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jordan drawled. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, kid. I knew Alton alongtime.”

Zach stared. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way Jordan delivered the words. Pointedly.

Or was Zach being paranoid?

He met Jordan’s protuberant gray eyes. Jordan’s expression was hard to define, but he knew something. Zach was sure of it.

“Right. You were college roommates.”

“Yep. I got a close-up view of how Alton operates, early on.”

That had probably been an education in itself.

Zach said neutrally, “But you stayed friends.”

Jordan shrugged. “Frenemies. Isn’t that what your generation calls it? We had more in common back in college. He had a sense of humor. He could be entertaining. He was always a cold fish, though. I was sorry for Zora when she got involved with him. She was a great girl before he sucked all the life out of her.”

“If she was unhappy, why wouldn’t she leave him?”

It wasn’t entirely rhetorical. Zach knew from personal experience, people who stopped loving each other had many reasons for staying together. His parents were typical of a lot of couples of their generation. But Alton and Zora didn’t have children to consider. And they both had financial resources a lot of people didn’t.

“I used to wonder about that. I guess she was still getting something out of it. Power? Control? Or maybe it’s not even that complicated. Zora doesn’t like change.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Nobody knows what happens in a marriage. I can tell you that.”

“Are you married?”

Jordan’s gaze went automatically to the large gold-framed photo facing him. He smiled at the photo. “I sure am. We’ll be celebrating our twentieth anniversary next month. I won the marriage lottery. I can tell you that.”