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“Vera, it’s Soren Moon. Here with some friends.”

“Hold on.” Behind the door, a succession of locks clicked and scraped. Apparently Vera was not the social type.

There was a pause, followed by the sound of something being dragged across the floor. Something tinny clattered inside. Then the door opened just a few inches. One bloodshot blue eye appeared, peering out at us.

“Who you have with you?” Vera asked.

“A friend looking for an engagement ring,” Soren said.

“They have money?” Vera asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Soren said. “And we’re on a schedule.”

“Fine. Wipe your feet,” Vera said as she opened the door and stepped back for us to come inside. It was then that I saw she held a giant ceramic goose in her arms. She was small, with gray hair pinned on top of her head and a magnifying visor pushed up above her glasses. She wore a purple cardigan over a blouse buttoned to her throat.

Her basement was about a hundred degrees and felt humid, like we’d just walked into the tropics. The room was packed. I’m talking hoarder proportions. Stacks of chairs, lamps, picture frames, and magazines made a walkway of sorts. Christmas music played from somewhere. A hint of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

Where in the world had Soren taken us?

“Here, take the goose,” Vera said to Soren.

He did so without asking why she couldn’t just set it down herself.

“Careful now,” Vera said. “It’s a gift for my sister. You have no idea what it cost me to find it.”

“Why does she want a goose?” Jack asked.

Vera turned her attention toward Jack. “It’s you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My sister saw you in Las Vegas. Terrible place. She said you were good.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, corners of his mouth twitching. “Did she have a nice time?”

“Ridiculous woman slipped in the parking lot,” Vera said.

“Was she all right?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. Sprained her ankle real good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said.

“It was her shoes. Too tall for an old woman to be running around in. Marge still has feathered hair she dyes with one of those platinum colors, so that should tell you everything you need to know.”

Jack glanced at me. I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

Vera seemed to notice me for the first time. “You’re his drummer.”

“That’s right,” Grant said.

“Real hunky,” Vera said, looking me up and down. “Marge and I agree on that at least.”

“Thank you?” It came out as a question.

“That’s about it, though. Marge’s politics. Real problem between us. That’s why the goose.”

“Of course,” Jack said.