” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. Her answer was not quite ready. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. " A detective. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone.
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