Steve turned to lead Daisy through the house, and she did a fast body assessment. He wore khaki shorts with a black T-shirt that showed off corded forearms and well-developed biceps. His legs had lots of muscle definition in the quads and calves. He hadn’t gotten that kind of body from sitting behind a desk all day, and she wondered how he managed to keep in such good shape. Most of the men she knew were starting to soften in the middle. Even the tennis players and spa-goers seemed to lose tone as they climbed the corporate ladder.

The front door opened to a small foyer that felt very welcoming, with a spindle-backed bench and eighteenth-century chest set against one wall. The living room was to the left. The furniture was overstuffed and comfy-looking. Very Ralph-Lauren-looking, she thought. Brown leather and big red plaids, brass lamps, and Oriental area rugs. The dining room was to the right of the foyer. He had a formal table that seated six. The wood was dark. Mahogany, maybe. The walls were a Williamsburg print. The Realtor had been right, the print was lovely.

Steve stopped at the kitchen and took a platter of raw hamburger patties from the refrigerator. “What can I get you to drink? Beer, wine, soda?”

“Soda.”

He gave her a root beer, a bag of chips, and two bowls of salsa to carry outside.

“Two bowls of salsa?” she asked.

“One for Bob. I hate when he dips his chips in mine.”

The phone rang and Steve answered it in the kitchen. He hung up a few minutes later, frowning. “That was security at the station. They caught someone tinkering with the newscar. The guy pulled a gun on the guard who found him and got away.”

“My Lord, maybe the Roach really is out to get me. Is he really out on bail?”

“Let’s not panic. We don’t know for sure. Didn’t fit the Roach’s description.”

“Could be one of his friends.”

“Could be.”

“Was there any damage to the car?”

“Nothing noticeable.” That was a lie. The man had written “Death to the Dog Lady” in spray paint on the side of the car.

“Well, that’s a relief. And I’m glad you’re taking this so calmly.” She pushed the back door open and carried the chips outside. “I guess I overreacted. Not much we can do about it anyway, is there?”

“We can take you out of the traffic car.”

Daisy put the chips and salsa on the picnic table. “Haven’t we had this discussion before?”

“Last time we yelled at each other. This time we need to talk.”

“Okay. That sounds fair. Go ahead and talk.” She straddled a picnic bench and opened the bag of chips. “Put the hamburgers on the grill first. I’m starved, and Bob looks desperate.”