“Etiquette isn't her strong suit. She wasn't thrilled about my evaluation in the first place, though I thought we were making progress. She probably took the girls out of state—maybe Hawaii. When I spoke to her yesterday she made a crack about a Honolulu vacation. Or Mexico. Her husband may have family there. . . . I'd better call the judge.”

“We set up an office for you in one of the bedrooms,” she said, leaning over and pecking my cheek. “Gave you the one with the best view, plus there's a Hockney on the wall—two guys showering.” She smiled. “Poor Milo—he was a little embarrassed about it—started muttering about the “atmosphere.' Almost apologizing. After all he did to help us. I sat him down and we had a good talk.”

“About what?”

“Stuff—the meaning of life. I told him you could handle the atmosphere.”

“What he say to that?”

“Just grunted and rubbed his face the way he does. Then I made coffee and told him if he ever learned to play an instrument I'd build one for him.”

“Safe offer,” I said.

“Maybe not. When we were talking, it came up that he used to play the accordion when he was a kid. And he sings—have you ever heard him?”

“No.”

“Well, he sang for me this afternoon. After some prodding. Did an old Irish folk song—and guess what? He's got a really nice voice.”

“Basso profundo?”

“Tenor, of all things. He used to be in the church choir when he was a little boy.”

I smiled. “That's a little hard to picture.”

“There's probably a lot about him you don't know.”

“Probably,” I said. “Each year I get in touch with more of my ignorance. . . . Speaking of grunts, where's our guest?”

“Sleeping in the service porch. I tried keeping him here while I worked, but he kept charging the machines—he was ready to take on the bandsaw when I got him out of here and locked him in.”

“Tough love, huh? Did he do his little strangulation routine?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. She put her hand around her throat and made a gagging sound. “I yelled at him to be quiet and he stopped.”

“Poor guy. He probably thought you were going to be his salvation.”

She grinned. “I may be sultry and sensual, but I ain't easy.”

I let the dog loose, gave him time to pee outside, and took him into my new office. A chrome-and-glass-topped desk was pushed up against one wall. My papers and books were piled neatly on a black velour couch. The view was fantastic, but after a few minutes I stopped noticing it.

I phoned superior court, got Steve Huff in his chambers, and told him about Evelyn Rodriguez's no-show.

“Maybe she just forgot,” he said. “Denial, avoidance, whatever.”

“I think there's a good chance she's gone, Steve.” I described Roddy Rodriguez's locked yard.

“Sounds like it,” he said. “There goes another one.”