The alarm rang on her bedside clock. Simultaneously, an alarm went off in the kitchen. Kate smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh, damn!”

Dave reached for the clock. “What’s going on?”

“I’m late!” Kate rushed to her closet and grabbed a garment bag. “That’s my late alarm. I’m awful with time. When the alarms go off it means I have only half an hour to get to the Kennedy Center and dress. Special matinee today. I knew I’d forget!”

She snagged her big leather purse from the dresser and took off at a dead run. She got halfway down the stairs, turned, and popped back into the bedroom. “Dave, can you take care of this for me? And lock up the house when you leave. And thanks for the pizza.”

She was gone. Dave and the insurance man stared out the open bedroom door in silence, unconsciously holding their breath. They resumed breathing at the sound of a car being gunned from the curb.

The insurance man blinked and smiled in amazement. “Is she always like this?”

“Probably.”

By the time Kate returned, it was pouring. She dashed from her car and huddled in the dark alcove of her front door, searching through her purse for her key.

The concert had been followed by a mandatory reception and dinner that had seemed interminable. She’d mentally cracked her knuckles when the consommé was served, tapped her foot relentlessly through the chicken almondine, and bolted down her poached pear in raspberry sauce. When rain had softly pattered against the windows, a variety of emotions had run through her. She’d been relieved that it wasn’t a good night for rapists to go prowling around looking for houses with holes in their roofs, concerned that, in addition to everything else, she now had water damage—and had an undeniable yearning for David Dodd’s no-fail layer cake.

She shivered as rain drizzled down her neck and soaked into the back of her sweats, and she wistfully longed for the black coat the cleaner had destroyed. The coat had been like Little Bear’s porridge. Not too hot, and not too cold. It had always been just right. Not too long, not too short. It had fit her perfectly. And now it was gone… just like her roof. Damn.

She wedged her music case between her leg and the door, protecting it from the elements out of habit. She found the key and let herself into the foyer, for the first time in her life feeling slightly insecure in her own house. Her haven, her sanctum sanatorium was vulnerable. It had been violated by a pod. Whatever that was.

“A pod!” she said aloud. “A big, stupid pod.”