Gina stood there with her coat in her hand.
"Graham," she said.
He came back into the hallway. He saw the open closet. He saw her face. And she watched his expression go through about five things in one second, and the last one was panic.
"What's this?" she said.
"That's—" He stopped. And then, God help him, he reached up and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "That's for a client. A client's daughter. Mr. Pruitt. From the — the Pruitt trust. He asked me to pick it up for him. Because I'm downtown."
Gina looked at his hand, still at his glasses.
She had seen him do that at the Evergreen Room, when he said he tipped well. She had seen him do it when he said "Confession." She had seen him do it in the warming house, just before he told her the truth about the two red bicycles. And she knew — the way she had known about Augie's mother's hip, the way her father had known which kids at St. Barbara's needed a doll on the porch — exactly what it meant.
"You're lying to me," she said.