“I told you – I don’t have a sister.”

“Not one you know of, perhaps. Your father did disappear, after all. But for all I know she could be some psycho with a thing for artists. I felt it best to at least inform you.”

“You think she’s dangerous?”

“Personally, no, not at all. But you never know. She got some bogus address for you, from somewhere I don’t know.”

“What did she look like?”

Suddenly there was another knock, a heart palpitation on the door. Max said, “Wait, hold that thought,” and went to get it. It was one of his neighbors, a man whose tongue was a sea of Spanish with small islands of English, and he appeared to be complaining about something.

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