She stood in the center of the room, left hand on her left hip and right hand under her chin, inspecting plant location and knickknack placement.

“Are you nervous?”

“Certainly not. I’m tense. That’s different.” She glanced at the Early American electric, then at her watch. Whatever she saw there didn’t agree, so she went to the mantel and added two minutes to the Early American. She straightened a copy of Good Housekeeping that was on an end table next to the couch, picked up a piece of thread from the rug, then went down the hall and into her bedroom. There was a quality of tension to the way she moved that I hadn’t seen before.

Pike said, “News crew came to the bank, sniffing around about what she was doing at the Ho Jo with Peter Alan Nelsen. She had the guard throw them out.”

“Ah.”

“She left early and came home. She’s been cleaning all day.”

“She’s scared. Someone who threatens her sense of identity is about to invade her home.”

“Awful lot of cleaning for someone about to invade your home.”

“The zen of housecleaning allows one to reach inner peace.”

Pike nodded again and sipped more tea. “I’ve always found that to be true.”

I went into the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, then went back into the dining room and sat down with Pike. Karen came out of the hall, stared at the living room for thirty seconds, then went back down the hall. Zen.

I said, “Charlie make contact today?”

Pike shook his head.

“I don’t like it. Guys like Charlie don’t let it go. They freak out and try to teach you a lesson. He must be working something.”

Pike nodded. “You get anything?”

I told him about Gloria Uribe and the Jamaican. Pike said, “The mob doesn’t mix with those guys.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

Pike said, “Hmm.”

At eight minutes before four a black stretch limo came roaring up the street and pulled into the drive. I said, “They’re here.”

Karen came back down the hall and went to the window. The sea-green top had been replaced by an elegant black sweater and a small but tasteful string of pearls.

Car doors slammed and Karen stepped away from the window. She drew herself up and placed her hands at her sides. “Damnit, I was hoping Toby would get here early.” She seemed pale, but maybe it was the light.

I said, “Let’s hide and pretend no one’s home.”

“Very funny.”

I’m a riot, you get me going.

She stood in the center of the room and did not move until the doorbell rang. Then she looked at me and said, “I will bet you twenty-five million dollars that the first thing he says will mark him as an asshole.”

“Why be defeatist?”