“So, Jaine,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Not at all. Have a seat.”

He gestured to a hot pink velvet sofa that looked like it had spent its formative years in a New Orleans bordello.

“I’d offer you something to eat, but all I’ve got is some take-out soy sauce. I’m not much of a cook. But I make a mean cup of French-roast coffee. Want some?”

I’d just had three cups at Rochelle’s, plus one at Junior’s, and a cup of instant at home. If I had any more coffee I’d be bouncing off the potted palms. On the other hand, if he left the room, I’d have a chance to snoop around.

“Sure,” I said, “coffee sounds great.”

“I won’t be long,” he said, as he headed off to the kitchen.

“Take your time,” I called out after him.

The minute he was gone I made a beeline for an old rolltop desk in the corner. The desk was littered with unpaid bills and sketches of wildly colored rooms. I could see why Marybeth had been reluctant to make Colin a partner. I didn’t think there were many clients (outside of a Hollywood Boulevard massage parlor) who wanted their rooms done up in black leather and red lace.

I quickly rifled through the drawers but found little of interest. Until I discovered a tiny drawer under the lip of the rolltop desk. A secret compartment if ever I saw one. I pulled it open, and as I did, a piercing alarm filled the room.

Damn. The drawer was wired! I looked down and saw nothing in it but some fabric swatches. Why the hell would Colin have an alarm on his swatches?

Colin came ambling out from the kitchen with two mugs of steaming coffee, not the least bit perturbed at the racket.

“Oh, Max,” he said. “Shut up.”

And then I realized it wasn’t an alarm making all that noise; it was the bird.

“Sorry about that,” Colin said. “Max has learned how to imitate the sound of the car alarms in the neighborhood. It drives me nuts.”

“I was just admiring your designs,” I said, nudging his drawer shut with my hip. “They’re great.”

“I know. Can you believe Marybeth wanted to hire that guy from New York over me?”

He joined me at the desk and handed me my coffee.

“I like this one a lot,” he said, pointing to one of the designs.

“Yes,” I gushed. “What a great kitchen.”

“It’s not a kitchen,” he said, frowning. “It’s a bathroom.”

“Oh? Isn’t that a microwave?”

“No, it’s a medicine cabinet.”

Oops. This wasn’t going nearly as smoothly as I’d hoped.

“Well,” I said, “if you don’t mind answering some questions…”

I skittered back to the sofa and took a seat.