"No alarm system? That seems odd in a house this size."

"Spoken like a cop. There's actually one installed, but it isn't hooked up. When we first moved in Richard set it off so often, the company started charging us fifty bucks a pop and the cops refused to show. We figured, what's the point?"

"Let's hope the burglars haven't heard."

"We're insured. Come on and I'll give you the ten-cent tour." He walked me through the house, pausing to fill me in on their decorating plans. On the first level, wide-plank oak floors stretched through the living room, dining room, family room, paneled den, and two guest rooms. The upstairs was fully carpeted in cream-colored wool; two master suites, a workout room, and enough closet space for ten. The place had the feel of a model home in a brand-new subdivision, minus all the furniture and foo-foo. Many rooms were empty, and those that had furniture seemed empty, nonetheless. I realized Tommy traveled light, like me-no kids, no pets, and no houseplants. In the family room, there was a fully stocked wet bar, too much black leather, and a big-screen television for sporting events. I didn't see any art or books, but maybe those were still packed away.

In the bedrooms, it was clear they'd purchased entire suites of furniture off the showroom floor. All the pieces matched; light wood in Tommy's room-the style, "Moderne." In Richard's bedroom, the headboard, chest of drawers, armoire, and two bed tables were heavy and dark, the design faintly Spanish with wrought-iron pulls. Everything was spotlessly clean, which probably meant a crew of three coming in once a week.

We made the complete circuit and ended up back in the kitchen. Both of us were conscious of the passage of time. Despite his earlier nonchalance, he seemed as aware as I was that Richard might roll in at any moment. He wasn't due for hours, but I could feel his presence like a ghost in every room. Tommy had made no further comment about his brother's chilly attitude and I didn't want to ask. For all I knew, the tension between them had nothing to do with me.

Finally, in a show of bravado, Tommy said, "Would you like a drink?"

"I think not, but thanks. I have work to do. I appreciate the tour. This is really great."

"It needs work yet, but we like it. You'll have to see it by day. The landscaping's beautiful." He checked his watch. "I better get you home."

I picked up my shoulder bag and followed him, waiting in the car while he locked the house again. In the confines of the Porsche, I was conscious of the charge in the air between us. We chatted on the drive, but it was make-work in the face of my attraction to him. He found a parking space near Rosie's, half a block from my place. He parallel parked and then came around the car again to let me out. He offered me his hand in support and I extracted myself with as much grace as I could manage. Sports cars should come equipped with quick-ejection seats.

The crowd noise from Rosie's was muffled, but I was aware of the contrast between the raucous din in there and the quiet where we were. Residual rain dripped from the nearby trees and water gurgled along the gutters like a urban brook. We stood there for a moment, neither of us sure how to say good-night. He reached over idly and adjusted the metal clasp on the front of my slicker. "Don't want you wet. Can I walk you home?"

"I'm just down there. You can almost see the place from here."

He smiled. "I know. I got the address from your application and checked it out earlier. Looks nice."

"You're nosy."

"Where you're concerned," he said.

He smiled again and I found myself glancing away. We both said "Well" at the same time and laughed. I walked backward a few steps, watching while he opened the door and folded himself under the steering wheel. He slammed the car door and moments later the engine rumbled to life. The headlights flicked on and he took off with a roar. I turned, proceeding to the corner while the sound of his car faded at the end of the block. I confess my underwear felt warm and ever so faintly damp.

Chapter 12

Tuesday morning dawned in a haze of damp and fog. I went through my usual morning routine, including a jog so vigorous it left me rosy-cheeked and sweating. After breakfast, I spent some time working at home, finishing revisions on my report for Fiona. Maybe all these neatly typed pages would pass for progress in her eyes. This was one of the few times in my life when I could see that I might fail, and I was scared. I anticipated her return with the same enthusiasm I'd felt any time I had to have a shot as a kid.

I left my apartment at 9:35. With the temporary break in the storm, large bands of blue sky had appeared between the clouds. The grass had turned emerald green and the leaves on all the trees were looking glossy and fresh. My appointment with Dow Purcell's best friend, Jacob Trigg, was scheduled for 10:00. I'd studied a city map, pinpointing his street address in the heart of Horton Ravine. I drove east along Cabana Boulevard and ascended the hill as it swept up from the beach. I turned left on Promontory Drive and followed the road along the bluffs that paralleled the beach. I turned left again and drove through the back entrance to Horton Ravine. Tommy crossed my mind and I smiled in a goofy glow I found embarrassing.

A mile down the road, I saw the street I was looking for. I turned right through a warren of winding lanes and drove up the hill. Water rushed in a torrent along the berm and what looked like entire gravel driveways had washed out into the road. A tree with shallow roots had toppled backward, pulling up a half-moon of soil. Despite the numerous houses in the area, Mother Nature was busy reclaiming her own.

I peered to my right, checking mailboxes as I crept along. I finally spotted the house number Jacob Trigg had given me. Enormous black wrought-iron gates stood open and I drove up a long curving lane between low stone walls. At the top of the slow rise, the parcel became flat and I could see gently undulating acreage sweeping out in all directions. The two-story house was Italianate in feel, elegant and plain with a symmetrical window placement and a small porch in front with a circular balustrade.

I parked and got out. All the ground-floor windows were disconcertingly dark. There was no doorbell and no one answered my repeated knocks. I circled the house, checking for lights or other signs of the inhabitants. The air was still except for the occasional water dripping from the eaves. Had Trigg stood me up? I took a moment to check my bearings. Formal gardens stretched out on either side of house, but there was not a gardener in sight. Probably too wet to do much work.

I started down the sloping lawn, hoping to come across someone who'd tell me if Trigg was home. For the next five minutes, I wandered across the property, grass squishing underfoot where underground springs had suddenly resurfaced. At the end of a row of ornamental pears, I spotted a greenhouse with a small potting shed attached. An electric golf cart was parked nearby. I picked my way forward, mindful of the mud sucking at the soles of my boots.

I could see a man working at a high bench just inside the shed. Despite the cold, he wore khaki shorts and muddy running shoes. There were braces on both legs, secured by what looked like screws driven in on either side of his knees. I could see signs of atrophy in the muscles of his calves. Propped up against the counter beside him was a pair of forearm crutches. The billed cap he wore covered a thatch of gray hair. On the redwood surface in front of him, there were five or six ratty-looking potted plants in various stages of decline.

I paused in the doorway, waiting for acknowledgment before I went in. Beyond the far doorway, the greenhouse opened up, but the angled glass ceiling wasn't visible from where I stood. Most of the side panes were an opaque white, but in places the glass was clear, admitting brighter squares of light. The air was warm and smelled of loam and peat moss. "Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but are you Mr. Trigg?" He scarcely looked up. "That's me. What can I do for you?"