I glanced out through the little fish-eye peephole and opened the door. The locksmith was young, maybe twenty-two. She flashed me a smile that featured nice white teeth.

"Oh hi," she said, "I'm Becky. Is this the right place? I tried up front and the old guy said I probably wanted you."

"Yes, that's right," I said, "come on in."

She was taller than I and very thin, with long bare arms and blue jeans that hung on her narrow hips. She had a. carpenter's belt slung around her waist, a hammer hanging down like a gun in a holster. Her fair hair was cut short with a. boyish cowlick across the front. Freckles, blue eyes, pale lashes, no makeup, all the gawkiness of an adolescent. She had an athlete's no-nonsense good looks and she smelled of Ivory soap.

I moved toward the bathroom. "The window's in here. I want some kind of heavy-duty hardware installed that can't be breached."

Her eyes lit up when she saw the cut in the glass. "Gee, not bad. Slick job, huh. You want to put new locks on the other windows or just this?"

"I want new locks on everything including my desk. Can you re key the dead bolt?"

"Sure. I can do anything you want. If you got glass, I'll reglaze the window for you too. I love doing things like that."

I left her to install the heavy-duty hardware. Belatedly, I snatched up several articles of dirty clothing strewn about my living room. There's nothing like an outsider's idle glance to make you conscious of your own environment. I chucked two beach towels, a sweatshirt, and a dark cotton sundress on top of some other stuff in the washing machine. I tend to use my washer as a dirty-clothes hamper anyway since I'm pinched for space. I tossed in a cup of detergent. I cranked the dial around to permanent press, just to keep the cycle short, and I was on the verge of popping the door shut again when I spotted Elaine's passport poking up out of the back pocket of a pair of blue jeans. I think I must have hooted my surprise because Becky stuck her head out of the bathroom door.

"Did you call me?"

"No, that's all right. I just found something I'd been looking for."

"Oh. Okay. Good for you." She went back to work. I put the passport at the back of my bottom desk drawer and locked it. Thank God I have the passport, I thought. Thank God it had turned up. It was like a talisman, a good omen. Cheered, I decided I might as well type up my notes, so I hauled out my little portable typewriter and set it up. I could hear Becky thumping around with the window, and after a few minutes, she stuck her head out of the bathroom again. "Hey, Kinsey? This thing is all gimmicked up. You want me to fix it?"