Twenty minutes later, the Quiggle lay sprawled across the couch, his meal completed. He brushed the crumbs of his late breakfast off his shirt, polished off the dregs of his coffee, and at last turned his attention to me. "Now," he said. "You mentioned you had some questions." I nodded, determined to remain unamused by Edward’s affected airs. I set down my teacup and reached for my notebook and pen. Flipping my book open, I began. "Martha mentioned you’d been here a while. Do you recall a Green Acara ever visiting?" Edward offered a lopsided shrug. "Maybe I do, maybe I don’t." Against my will, I began to tap my pen impatiently against my notebook. I was used to dealing with uncooperative witnesses, but Edward’s twenty minute lunch had tried my patience. His eyes followed the motion perceptively, and the corner of his mouth tilted up in an indolent smirk. He eased backwards, sinking into the couch, clearly savouring my irritation.