“A bit.”

“Was I snoring?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if I was?”

“Yes!” She gave my hand a gentle cuff.

“Why didn't you wake me to talk?” I said.

“You were deep asleep. I didn't have the heart.”

“Next time wake me.”

“We can talk right now, if you want. This whole thing's giving me very definite creeps the more I think about it. I'm worried about you—what will the next call or mail delivery bring?”

“Milo's looking into it,” I said. “We'll get to the bottom of it.”

I took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back hard. “You can't think of anyone who'd want to get back at you? Out of all the patients you've known?”

“Not really. When I worked at the hospital, I saw physically ill kids. In practice, it was basically normal children with adjustment problems.” The same kinds of patients Grant Stoumen had treated.

“What about your legal cases? All that custody garbage?”

“Anything's possible, theoretically,” I said. “But I've gone through my files and found nothing. The conference has to be the link—bad love.”

“What about that madman—Hewitt? Why was he shouting it?”

“I don't know,” I said.

She let go of my hand. “He killed his therapist, Alex.”

“Guess I could switch careers. But I'm really not good for anything else.”

“Be serious.”

“Okay—what happened to Becky Basille is the extreme. It's a long way from tapes and a crank call and a mangled carp to murder.”

The look on her face made me add: “I'll be careful—scout's honor. I'll call an alarm company—get a referral from Milo.”

“You won't consider moving out—just for a while?”

“Let's just see what happens over the next few days.”

“What are you waiting for, Alex? Things to get worse? Oh, never mind, let's not bicker.”

She got up, shaking her head, and went to the coffeepot for a refill. Stayed there drinking and looking out the window.

“Honey, I'm not trying to tough it out,” I said. “I just want to see what Milo comes up with before I shake up our lives completely. Let's at least give him a day or two to look into it, okay? If he doesn't, we'll move to the studio temporarily.”

“A day or two? You've got a deal.” The dog padded over to her. She smiled at him, then at me. “Maybe I'm overdoing it. Was the tape that bad?”

“Bizarre,” I said. “Like some kind of sick gag.”

“It's the sick part that bothers me.”

The dog snorted and jangled his collar. She took some cheese out of the fridge, told him to sit, and rewarded his obedience with small bites. He gobbled noisily and licked his flews.

“What do you call this?” she said. “Operant conditioning?”

“A-plus,” I said. “Next week's topic is stress management.”