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should go out tonight, Crissy ruminated. Yes, she decided, that’s what she ought to do. She and Jenny always had a good time together.
    â€œI’ll swing by your place about eight, eight-thirty. How’s that?” Jenny said.
    â€œWhat’s this place like?” Crissy asked.
    â€œReally cool, I hear,” Jenny said. “Fancy enough that a lot of the guys who work at the Capitol go there, expensive enough to keep the rednecks out.”
    â€œYou mean the parking lot won’t be full of pickup trucks with gun racks?”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I mean,” Jenny said, laughing. “Come on, say yes, and I’ll pick you up.”
    â€œOkay,” Crissy said. “What are you going to wear?”
    â€œSomething sexy,” Jenny said.
    â€œTell me something I didn’t already know,” Crissy said. “I meant, like casual or what?”
    â€œProbably slacks and a cute top,” Jenny said. “Maybe this new glittery number I’ve got that shows a lot of boob.”
    â€œYou’re shameless,” Crissy said.
    The door to the storage room swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Rosy stood in the door frame, her body occupying it entirely, with a highly unattractive scowl on her face. Crissy, her mood considerably improved by talking to Jenny, almost laughed aloud. Rosy looked as if smoke would pour out of her nostrils at any minute.
    â€œYour next customer is here, if you care,” Rosy snapped.
    â€œI’ll be right there,” Crissy said sweetly.
    Rosy didn’t budge, nor did the expression on her face change.
    â€œI have a customer,” Crissy said into the cell phone, “so I’ve got to run. I’ll see you tonight.” She pressed the call end button, flipped shut the phone, and rose to her feet. Yes, that’s what she should do. She decided she would really make an effort tonight, get dressed up and made up, and try to put a little extra zing in her step. Who knew? Maybe she would meet the man of her dreams at Nine One One.

Chapter Two
    D ark had already descended when Crissy parked her little blue Neon on the street and got out with her big carryall. Friends often joked that she ought to leave the keys in the car’s ignition to make it easy to steal. They could laugh all they wanted, Crissy thought as she locked it, but she loved her used, banged-up wreck of a car. It was hers, and it was paid for. She looked over toward Washington Park as she walked down the block to the old house where she rented a studio apartment. Most of the people she knew lived on the outskirts of Albany in modern apartment complexes with swimming pools and saunas, but she loved being in the center of town. She enjoyed the little park with its large old trees and ponds, and liked to ride her bicycle there in good weather.
    She reached the old gray house where she lived, and after unlocking the front door, she checked her mailbox in the entry hall. Nothing but junk. Advertising fliers and catalogs she would never order anything from. She pitched everything in the wastebasket provided by Birdie, her ancient landlady, then went to her door, just to the left.
    Her apartment had originally been the dining room of the once-grand house, which had long since been broken up into apartments, and it retained a semblance of its former glory with heavy moldings and ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. At the far end of the room, a kitchenette stretched along one wall and a door led into the small bathroom. The apartment was painted eggshell white, and on the scratched parquet floors were rugs that had once been a dusty rose shade. Like the house itself, the furniture was old and worn—flea market finds—but was serviceable and comfortable. Crissy treasured the apartment, down-at-the-heels as it was,because it offered a refuge. She had tired of sharing with friends, discovering that as well as she got along with them, they were often