Elsie adjusted her pocketbook on her arm. “I try to keep up appearances. I got a reputation, you know.”

They went inside, and Daisy showed Elsie to the guest room. Bob was asleep on the bed.

“This is Bob,” Daisy explained. “He belongs to Steve.”

“Do I gotta share a room with Bob?” Elsie asked. “I don’t mind, so long as he don’t hog my side of the bed. I’m an old lady. I need my rest.”

Daisy jumped when the phone rang.

“I’ve got it,” Steve called from the kitchen. “Let me answer.”

Everyone was silent when he said hello twice. Daisy and Elsie waited at the top of the stairs.

“Nobody on the line,” Steve said. “They hung up when they heard my voice.”

“Don’t worry,” Elsie told him. “From now on I answer the phone. I’ll take care of this. And I’d just like to see someone try to break into the house,” she said, patting her pocketbook.

Steve walked Bob home and put him to bed. He changed into a pair of jeans and a navy shirt. He took a blanket, a pillow, a thermos of coffee, and a package of Oreos out to the SUV. He locked his house and drove to Daisy’s subdivision. As a reporter, he’d acquired a certain amount of street smarts over the years, and experience told him Daisy probably wasn’t in a lot of danger. The Roach had threatened to get even, but there were lots of ways of getting even. Steve thought harassment would be high on the list. If someone were serious about hurting Daisy, they wouldn’t have called to tell her about it. That was providing the guy with the spray paint and bad phone manners was a card-carrying, professional dope pusher. If the man was a druggie with a few cans missing from his case, the prognosis wasn’t nearly so positive. No sense taking chances, Steve thought. Until he had a better handle on the situation, he was sticking close to Daisy. He parked across the street from her house. He rolled his window down, adjusted the pillow for comfort, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

At two-fifteen his head snapped off the back of the seat. The crack of a gunshot had broken the stillness of the night. Another shot rang out, and Steve was on his feet, running to Daisy’s house. He pulled at the front door, but it was locked. The windows were dark. He heard shouting behind the locked door. He heard the muffled thud of feet pounding downstairs. A light blinked on in the foyer, the living room, and upstairs behind bedroom curtains. He hammered at the door. “It’s Steve. Let me in.”

Elsie opened the door with her gun in her hand. “What are you doing here?”