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said. “As soon as the invitations are printed, I’ll mail them out.”
    “Good work.”
    I’d arranged for Nectar to partner with a UCLA professor who’d recently published some interesting journal articles exploring the effects of chocolate consumption on depression. He’d organized a panel of experts and planned to present his findings to the public. Helen was providing a chocolate buffet. The university was paying for publicity, so it was a way for her to reach a new audience without breaking her budget, a sweet deal for her. I just hoped Lupe’s death didn’t upend all those plans.
    “This is going to be the event of the season,” Eugene said.
    I picked up a stack of mail on his desk and began sorting through it. “Well, maybe not the event—”
    “Give yourself credit, Tucker. Organizing this affair was a real coup. It’s high-profile and it came just at the right time. Helen’s seemed so uptight lately. I’ve been calling her every day to cheer her up, but this symposium should make her feel more confident about Nectar’s future.”
    “You call her every day? What do you talk about?”
    “Everything. I practically know her whole life story. Did you know she was raised on a farm in Vermont? She’s the only friend I have who knows how to milk a cow. If you discount the eeuu factor, it’s quite an accomplishment. Plus, she had a father who never said ‘I love you.’ Not once in her life. I can so identify. I admire her for rising above her childhood. After everything she’s been through, it takes gumption to start all over again at her age. Remember how hard it was for me to leave corporate America for the private-eye business? And I was young.”
    Helen had never confided in me about her barnyard history, but I knew a little about Eugene’s past. He’d been my assistant at Aames & Associates, the corporate consulting firm where I’d worked before I left to start my own company. After I left, he wasn’t happy there anymore, so a few months back he quit and came to work for Charley and me. I didn’t want to downplay the stress involved in changing jobs, but at least milking cows wasn’t part of his job description.
    “Um, Eugene—”
    “I know, I know. I’m not a pro, but I could be and so could you. Even Charley thinks so.”
    I doubted Charley would agree with him, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I took the mail and headed toward my office. Eugene followed, carrying what looked like a telephone message in his hand.
    My room was understated but professional-looking. I hadn’t been sure if sharing space with Charley would work in the long term, so I hedged my bets and found a furniture rental outlet with an in-house interior designer. She’d put together some pieces, including a pair of metal file cabinets, that were boring, but at least they didn’t look as if they’d been pilfered from a Quonset hut on Iwo Jima. On the wall next to a couple of beach-scene watercolors was a framed blue Frisbee sporting the caption, Don’t Forget to Play . Deegan had given it to Muldoon a few months back, but the pup never used it much. He wasn’t interested in flying through the air to catch anything short of a turkey wiener.
    Eugene laid the message on my desk. “You have an appointment with a new client this afternoon at three.”
    I set my purse and the computer on my desk, disrupting a stack of papers in the process. “That’s good. What kind of business?”
    Eugene eyed the mess and frowned. He moved both bags to a guest chair and straightened the papers. “She was a little vague. She wouldn’t tell me the name of the company, just that it’s a dating service and she wants to expand.”
    I pulled off my coat and hat and threw them across the chair. “She wants me to give her advice on dating?”
    “I know. It’s not exactly your forte, but I know you’ll rise to the occasion.”
    “What’s her name?”
    He folded my hat into a neat triangle and tucked it into the pocket of the coat.