“And this client of yours won't mind?”

“Nah, it's a piece of cake.”

“Thanks, Milo,” said Robin. “You're a doll.”

“No big deal.”

“What do I do about my work? Can I go to the shop?”

“Wouldn't hurt to avoid it for a few days. At least until I find out more about these unsolveds.”

She said, “I had orders piled up before I went to Oakland, Milo. The time I spent up there already set me back.” She grabbed her napkin and crushed it. “I'm sorry, here you are getting threatened, baby, and I'm griping . . .”

I took her hand and kissed it.

Milo said, “In terms of work, you could set up shop in the garage. It's a triple and there's only one car in it.”

“That's big enough,” said Robin, “but I can't just pack up the table saw and the band saw and cart them over.”

“I may be able to help you with that, too,” said Milo.

“An alternative,” I said, “would be moving to the studio and hiring a guard.”

“Why take a chance?” said Milo. “My philosophy is when trouble calls, don't be there to answer the doorbell. You can even take Rover with. Owner keeps cats—a friend's taking care of them now, but we're not talking pristine environment.”

“Sounds good,” I said, but my throat had gone dry and a refugee numbness was rising up from my feet. “As long as we're talking critters, there're the rest of the koi. The pond maintenance people can probably board them for a while—time to get organized.”

Robin began folding her napkin, over and over, ending up with a small, thick wad that she pressed between her hands. Her knuckles were ivory knobs and her lips were clamped together. She gazed over my shoulder, as if peering into an uncertain future.

The waiter came over with the coffeepot, and Milo waved him away.

From the big booth came the sound of male laughter. The levity had probably been going on for a while, but I heard it now because the three of us had stopped talking.

The Arab got up from his table, smoothed his suit, put cash on the table, and left the dining room.

Robin said, “Guess it's time to hitch up the wagons,” but she didn't move.

“This whole thing seems so unreal,” I said.

“Maybe it'll turn out we've hassled for nothing,” Milo said, “but you two are among the few humans I hold any positive regard for, so I do feel an obligation to protect and serve.”

He looked at our barely touched food and frowned. “This'll set you back some.”

“Have some.” I pushed my plate toward him.

He shook his head.

“The stress diet,” I said. “Let's write a book and hit the talk-show circuit.”

He followed us home in an unmarked Ford. When the three of us stepped into the house, the dog thought it was a party and began jumping around.