I let that sink in, and after a few seconds Susan informed me, “His wife hinted at the same thing.”

That surprised me, but then I realized that Nasim would use his wife to pass on that information to Susan. I offered my opinion and said, “I think he’s either post-9/11 paranoid, or he’s making that up so you’ll consider selling him this property.”

She thought about that and asked, “What if his security concerns are real?”

“Then he should have gone to the authorities. And he may have, though he never mentioned that to me. But if he had gone to the authorities, someone from the FBI or the local police would have called on you.” I asked, “Have they?”

“No.”

“And I haven’t heard from them, either. So I have to conclude that Nasim did not contact the authorities, which makes me wonder about his security concerns.”

She considered that, then replied, “Well, you’re a lawyer, and you think like a lawyer. But he’s from a different culture, and he has a different mind-set about the police.”

“That’s a valid point. But he’s lived here and in London long enough to know that if he goes to the police, they won’t shake him down or beat him up for annoying them.”

She nodded, then said, “Well, even if his concerns are real, it’s his problem, not mine.”

I informed her, “Nasim asked me to call him if I noticed anything suspicious.”

She nodded and said, “Soheila said the same thing.”

I offered, “Or call me.”

She looked at me, smiled, but didn’t reply.

It occurred to me, of course, that Amir Nasim’s concerns about being on a hit list, real or imagined, had the positive effect of raising everyone’s alert level on this property, which was a good thing in regard to the more probable threat from Anthony Bellarosa.

Apropos of that, and recalling Ms. Post’s advice to me, I wanted to ask Susan if she had a gun. But considering what she’d done the last time she had a gun, that might be a touchy subject with her, especially if I also asked her if she knew how to use it. We actually knew the answer to that. So I’d hold off on that question for now.

I was thinking of Anthony Bellarosa more than Amir Nasim when I said to Susan, “In any case, to play it safe, I’ll go to the police, and suggest that they call the FBI. You should do the same.”

She didn’t respond to that, then looked at me and said, “This is unbelievable… that we should even think about things like… foreign terrorists.”

I informed her, in case she forgot, “The world, including this world here, has changed. So we need to think about things like this.”

She retreated into a pensive silence, recalling, I’m sure, the world she grew up in, when the biggest outside threat was nuclear Armageddon, which was so unthinkable that no one even thought about it on a day-to-day basis. The only other foreign intrusion into our safe and secure world had been the annual Soviet invasion of the local beaches each summer, launched from the Russian-owned estate in Glen Cove. I was sure that Susan and everyone else around here were nostalgic for those days when our only contact with foreign enemies was a handful of surly Russians leaving empty vodka bottles on the public beach. Now, unfortunately, we were all thinking about 9/11, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I further revealed to Susan, “Nasim said he’d pay me a ten percent commission if I could convince you to sell.”

That brought her out of her thoughts, and she responded, “That’s unethical.”

“Actually, it’s just good business.”

She asked me, “What did you tell him?”

“I told him to make it fifteen percent, and I’d tell you I saw Iranian assassins hiding in your hedgerows.”

She smiled, then assured me, “I won’t be pressured or intimidated. This is my land, and it’s been in my family for over a hundred years. If Nasim is frightened of something here, he can move.”

“I understand.” I also understood that she wasn’t going to pack up and leave because of Anthony Bellarosa. Nevertheless, I said, “There’s another important matter I need to discuss with you.”

She looked at me and said, “Anthony Bellarosa.”

This surprised me at first, then it didn’t. Susan may be crazy, but she’s not stupid. I replied, “Yes. Anthony Bellarosa.”

She informed me, “I had heard that he lived on the Alhambra property before I made my offer to buy back my house. He didn’t figure into my plans then, and he doesn’t figure into them now.”

“All right, but…” Tolkien’s famous line on that subject popped into my head, and I said to her, “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”

She shrugged and said to me, “Unless you have something specific to tell me about the dragon, I don’t want to discuss this.” She added, “I thank you for your concern.” Then she smiled and said, “Well, I assume you are expressing concern and not some secret delight.”

I wanted her to understand that this was serious, so I didn’t return the smile, and I said, “I am very concerned.”

This seemed to get through to her, and she asked, “How did you find out he lived next door?”

“He stopped by the gatehouse last Monday.”

This news, that Anthony Bellarosa had actually been on the property, got her attention, and she asked, “Why?”

I replied, “It was an unannounced social call. He welcomed me back to the neighborhood.”

Susan was vacillating between not wanting to discuss this and knowing that she probably needed to hear what I had to say. So while she was trying to decide, I continued, “He wanted to speak to me about his father.”

She didn’t reply.

I pressed on, “He asked about you.”

Susan looked at me, then slipped into her Lady Stanhope mode and said, “If he has anything he wants to know about me, he should ask me, not you.”

Susan has a kind of courage, born, as I’ve indicated, of that upper-class breeding that could best be described as a mixture of haughty indifference toward physical danger, and a naïve belief, bordering on delusion, that she was not a member of the victim class. Another way to understand it is to think of Susan telling a burglar to wipe his feet before he enters. In any case, to get her nose out of the air and her feet on the ground, I said to her, “He’s like his father – he doesn’t discuss important matters with women.”

That had the effect of annoying her, while also reminding her of how she’d created this problem. She said to me, apropos of that, “John, this is not your problem. It’s mine. I do appreciate your concern, and I’m touched, really, but unless he’s made a specific statement to you that I should know about, then you don’t need to involve yourself in-”

“Susan. Get off your high horse.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and stared off into the garden.

I said, “To remind you, you killed his father. He will not be discussing that with you. But he did discuss it with me.” I didn’t mention my subsequent conversations with Anthony at dinner or in Oyster Bay, but I did say, “While he made no specific threats, and never will, I came away with the distinct impression that he’s looking for revenge.”

She kept staring off at a fixed spot in the garden, probably thinking about rose blight. That’s how she handles big problems that she can’t deal with; she sublimates and thinks about small problems. That’s what she did after she murdered Frank Bellarosa – with his body sprawled out on the floor and a half dozen homicide detectives waiting to take her to jail, she was worried about her horse, and probably worried about how Anna was going to get the bloodstains off the floor.

I decided to end this conversation, knowing that I’d done what I needed to do, and knowing, too, that anything I said after my warning would be conjecture, opinion, and advice which she didn’t want. I did say, however, “You should go to the police and give them a sworn statement…” In case something does happen. But I didn’t say that.