“How okay do you think I'm going to be, worrying every minute about you? I mean, the fish are wonderful, Alex, but you can hire someone to feed them. Hire someone to look after the whole house, for that matter.”

“Pack up the wagons and head out?”

“What's wrong with being a little cautious, honey?”

“I don't know . . . it just seems awfully drastic—all that's really happened is malicious mischief.”

“So why were you so upset when you told me about it?”

“Sorry. I didn't want to upset you.”

“Of course it upsets me,” she said. “Someone sending you weird tapes, sneaking in and . . .” She put her arm around my shoulder. The light changed to green and I turned left.

“Goes with the territory,” she repeated. “All those troubled people you've worked with over the years. All that misdirected passion. The surprising thing isn't that it happened. It's how long it took.”

“You never said it worried you.”

“It wasn't a matter of worry—I didn't obsess on it. Just thought about it from time to time.”

“You never said anything.”

“What would have been the point? I didn't want to upset you.”

I lifted her hand from my shoulder and kissed it.

“Okay,” she said, “so we protect each other, Curly. Ain't that what true love's all about?”

I pulled up in front of the house. No obvious signs of intrusion.

I said, “Just let me check around for a sec before you get out.”

“Oh, really,” she said. But she stayed in the car.

I gave the pond a quick inspection. The fish moved with nighttime languor, and none was missing.

I jogged up the stairs to the landing, checked the front door, peered in through the living room window. Something moved as the drapes parted. The dog's face pressed against the glass, wetting it. I raised my hand in greeting. He pawed the window. I could hear the jazz through the redwood walls.

By the time I got back down, Robin was lifting her valise from the trunk. When I tried to take it from her, she said, “I've got it,” and headed for the steps.

As I unlocked the front door, she said, “We could at least get an alarm. Everyone else has one.”

“Never been a slave to fashion,” I said, but when she didn't smile, I added, “Okay. I'll call a company tomorrow.”

We walked in and almost tripped over the bulldog, who'd positioned himself on the welcome mat. He stared from Robin to me, then back to her, where he lingered with Churchillian dignity.

Robin said, “My God.”

“What?” I said.

“He invented cute, Alex. Come here, sweetie.” She bent down to his level with one hand extended, palm down.

He trotted forward without hesitation, jumped up, put his paws on her shoulders, and embarked on a lick-fest.

“Ooh!” She laughed. “What a handsome boy you are—what a cutie—look at those muscles!”