Suzie drained her glass. “Law and Order junkie.”

Vinnie beamed, her cheeks pink from the wine. “I particularly enjoy Mr. Ice-T. If any man can bring sexy back, I believe it is he.”

Robin burst out laughing.

Lee was speechless.

Suzie grinned. “She’s a trip, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Lee agreed, then turned to me. “So the heavy damage was pretty much limited to your studio?”

“Yes.”

“Are your supplies and tools expensive? Would a burglar be able to sell them quickly?”

“I doubt it.” I looked at Robin, who grunted in agreement. Both sculpting and bookbinding tools could get expensive, but I doubted they would generate much cash on the street. “I can’t see some burglar coincidentally picking my place up on the sixth floor, just to make some easy money.”

Lee gave me the raised eyebrow. “No, neither can I.”

“Everyone in the building can hear when the elevator’s moving,” Suzie explained. “The stairwell takes a key to access. No other loft was broken into.”

“So what do you think they were looking for?” Lee asked.

I frowned. “I don’t know.”

She tapped the pen against her notepad and studied me for a moment. “If there’s something you’ve been avoiding telling me, you might want to reconsider.”

I couldn’t make eye contact. “Nothing I can think of.”

She looked as though she might ask me something else, but instead, she slapped her notebook closed and reached for her purse. “Okay, we’ll be in touch.”

I followed her down the hall to the front room. “Inspector, did you let my mother go?”

She pokered up. “That’s police business.”

I fisted my hands on my hips. “My mother, my business. You know she didn’t kill anyone.”

“I can’t discuss it.”

“I thought we were friends.”

She actually laughed. It sounded silly to me, too. She patted my shoulder, with some affection, I thought. “Be careful. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay.”

The two cops were still working in the studio as Lee opened the door. She took one last glance around. “You might want to consider staying somewhere else for a few days.”

“I’ll be at Robin’s tonight.” I wrote down Robin’s phone number and handed it to her.

“Smart,” she said. “Because if this was personal, they might be back.”

“Good to know. Thanks for that.”

She chuckled as she left. More cop humor?

I walked back to the kitchen in time to see the girls gathered at the west-facing window to watch the sun set.

Robin topped off my glass. “I called a locksmith. He should be here within the hour.”

I almost collapsed with gratitude. I’d completely forgotten that little detail. I sat on the couch and watched as the sky filled with pink and coral streaks.

Vinnie broke the silence. “We are happy to have the morning sun on our side, but the evening sun is more dramatic.”

“I love it,” I said, and hated that someone had marred my wonderful home.

Robin put the bottle in the recycling bin. “Inspector Lee has great hair, doesn’t she?”

“Very pretty,” Vinnie said. “But she is too thin.”

I took a big gulp of wine. “I was just thinking the other day that she needs a makeover.”

“Yeah,” Robin said, “but tonight probably wasn’t the best time to bring up the idea.”

“You could do me,” Vinnie said, draining her glass. “I would very much enjoy a makeover.”

Suzie stared at Vinnie, appalled, then looked at Robin and me. “I’d better get her home.”

Robin insisted that I spend the night at her house and I didn’t argue. I hated leaving my place unoccupied, but Suzie and Vinnie promised they would keep their eyes and ears open and alert our other neighbors to do the same.

I called my parents’ house that night, but there was no answer. My father didn’t own a cell phone, so I had no way of reaching him if he wasn’t home. I called my sister China and my brothers, but they hadn’t heard anything yet. I made them promise they’d call me as soon as they heard from Dad.

The next day I woke up to the smell of coffee and dragged myself out of bed. After examining my face and finding the bruise had turned to pale yellow, I stumbled to the kitchen, where Robin sat reading the newspaper.

She took one look at my worn plaid pajamas and said, “We could go shopping today.”

“I don’t need anything.”

She snorted. “Yeah, you do. Appropriate sleepwear, if nothing else.”

I poured myself a mug of coffee, stirred in a little half-and-half, and took a sip before responding. Then I took another sip and decided there was no suitable response.

“I’d better get moving,” I said finally. “I need to finish the Covington job.”

“I’ll pick up something cute for you while I’m out.”

“Sweet, but not necessary.”

I showered and dressed in jeans, sweater, jacket and comfortable yet stylish flats. No more heels this week. My mangled feet and aching calves couldn’t take it. I used some of Robin’s makeup to cover the bruise on my face and thought I did a pretty good job.

Robin lived on the edge of Noe Valley, one of the nicer, upscale neighborhoods in the City, a land of attractive three-story flats, charming shops and baby strollers. Whenever we ate out in her neighborhood, Robin would warn me to watch my ankles. Those new mothers with their strollers played hardball.

After thanking Robin for safe haven and breakfast, I walked down the block to Twenty-fourth Street, where the Phoenix Bookstore had two paperback copies of Goethe’s Faust in stock. One of them contained a convenient German translation on the pages facing the English text. I bought that one, determined to read it from start to finish for any possible clue to Abraham’s last words. I also found a German-English dictionary and bought it for good measure.

I strolled back to my car, enjoying the cool, sunny weather. For the first time in a few days, I didn’t get the eerie feeling that someone was watching me. But I did have a compelling urge to go home, see if my place was okay and clean up and reorganize things. The burglar had made a huge mess, but the fingerprint guys hadn’t helped the situation. Fine black powder covered every surface.

After weighing the pros and cons, I figured I’d better put in a full day at the Covington and get back on track with the Winslow project. I pulled out of the parking space and headed north on Castro, then crossed Market Street. The lush, thick palm trees lining the center island at this spot along Market were always an impressive sight, but I was too uptight to appreciate them today. I checked my rearview mirror all the way across Market, up Divisadero toward Pacific Heights. As I came to a stop at Jackson Street, a homeless woman with leathery skin and tangled hair crossed in front me, shouting and cursing at no one in particular. The disturbed, ranting woman reminded me of Minka LaBoeuf going off on me yesterday, screaming to the world that I was a murderer. Okay, maybe she had seen my car on Enrico’s street, but you’d never hear me confess it aloud.

I’d discounted Minka as the killer, but now I had to wonder why. She certainly was capable of violence. I touched my still-bruised cheek and rubbed the scar on my hand as if to hammer home the realization.

I doubted she was clever enough to pretend to show up at Enrico’s house after she’d killed him, but it could’ve happened.

But if Minka were the killer, she also would’ve been the one who ransacked my loft and studio. Regrettably, Minka had been in jail last night, so she was an unlikely suspect. Or was she? I made a mental note to check with Inspector Lee on Minka’s whereabouts last night.

My hands trembled on the steering wheel. I still had plenty of unresolved issues when it came to my nemesis.

When the signal changed, it felt good to gun the engine and roar up the steep hill.