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in mind?”
    “Harass you.” He picked up my coffee and sniffed it, obviously trying to decide if I had poisoned it with artificial sweetener. “Did you put that dead bolt on your apartment door?”
    “Oh, right. I meant to do that.”
    Wrong answer. Counting on his fingers, Marco began to list why I should have a dead bolt, most of which came from the unfortunate events of the past week. I had to tune him out, though, when my ears picked up the threads of a much more interesting conversation the three ladies were having behind me.
    “If it’s a massage parlor, why don’t they advertise? And why do they cover their windows with butcher paper?”
    “I heard that a woman tried to get in and was told it was for men only.”
    “Well, look at their sign, for goodness sake. EMPEROR’S SPA. What does that tell you?”
    “It’s open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Would a legitimate business do that?”
    I grabbed Marco’s wrist. “Did you hear that?”
    “Hear what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to be listening for.”
    I leaned closer to whisper, “What the ladies behind me are talking about. Remember those five Oriental women in their skintight Mandarin dresses who came into your bar Saturday night? Remember we heard that they work at the Emperor’s Spa, and give a whole lot more than massages? Remember me suggesting that we investigate? That’s what they’re talking about.”
    “Remember your promise not to meddle?”
    I should never make promises for something I’m inherently unable to do. “Come on, Marco. New Chapel is a very conservative, very clean college town. We don’t want prostitution going on here. As concerned citizens, it would behoove us to expose it.”
    “As a former law school student, it would behoove you not to jump to a conclusion without having all the facts.”
    “But it all adds up. They don’t advertise. Female customers aren’t allowed in. The windows are covered with paper. . . . I know there’s something fishy going on. I have a sixth sense about these things.”
    One corner of Marco’s mouth quirked, like he had a secret.
    “You found out something about that spa, didn’t you?” I said.
    “I figured you’d try to snoop, so I did a preemptive investigation.”
    My eyes got very wide, then narrowed suspiciously. “You went in that place?”
    “Yes, Miss Marple, I did, and I got a very thorough back massage.”
    “By one of the Oriental women?” I fairly seethed.
    “By a large European woman with hairy arms and a mustache. I didn’t see any women from the Far East.”
    “That’s because they smelled cop.”
    He gave me a look that said, Yeah, right. Marco had left the force because he didn’t fit the police mold. It had been a mutually acceptable decision. “I think you should know,” he said loud enough for the eavesdroppers to hear, “a new restaurant called the China Cabinet had their grand opening this past weekend. The waitresses wore Chinese costumes for it. I’m guessing they were the ones who came into the bar Saturday night.”
    At that, the three ladies behind us gathered their purses and shopping bags and left, obviously in a rush to broadcast the new bit of gossip. I watched them through the bay window as they met briefly on the sidewalk outside, then headed off in three separate directions like a trio of female Paul Reveres. The China Cabinet has opened! The China Cabinet has opened!
    “Let’s see if I have this right,” I said, turning my attention back to Marco. “Those five women at your bar Saturday night are waitresses, not masseuses, and the Emperor’s Spa is a legitimate business?”
    Marco sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, ready to declare a victory. “That’s what I’m saying.”
    “Then what do you call that ?”
    He followed my pointing index finger to a police van that had pulled up across the street, where, at that moment, two cops were dislodging five hissing, spitting, handcuffed Asian