"He's fine." I got out of my clothes. "Enjoying the slumber of the truly virtuous."

"Well," she said, putting her arms behind her head and watching, "I suppose it's best."

"Forgiven?" I said, sinking into the heat of the bath.

She contemplated. Breathed in. Smiled.

"I don't know ..."

I kissed her. She kissed back. I touched one breast, kissed a soapy nipple.

"Umm," she said, breaking away. "Well ..."

"Well, what?"

"You can forget Mr. Cruel and Mr. Heartless, but I think it's time to take a meeting with their partner-what's his name?"

CHAPTER.

9.

Thursday morning she was up and out of the shower by six-fifteen. When I got to the kitchen I expected to see her dressed for work, that restless look in her eyes.

But she was still in her robe, drinking coffee and reading ArtForum. She'd set out food for the dog and only a few bits remained. He was at her feet and looked up at me only briefly before returning his head to the side of her leg.

She put the magazine down and smiled up at me.

I kissed her and said, "You can get going, I'll be fine."

"What if I just want to be with you?"

"That would be great."

"Of course, if you have other plans ..."

"Nothing till the afternoon."

"What's then?"

"Patient appointment out in Sun Valley at three-thirty."

"Making a house call?"

I nodded. "Custody case. Some resistance and I want to see the kids in their natural environment."

"Three-thirty? That's good. We can hang out together till then."

"Terrific." I poured myself a cup, sat down, and pointed to the magazine. "What's new in the art world?"

"The usual foolishness." She closed it and pushed it aside. "Actually I have no idea what's going on in the art world or anywhere else. I can't concentrate, Alex. Woke up in the middle of the night, thinking about everything that's been happening to you and that poor psychiatrist up in Seattle. Do you really think there is a connection?"

"I don't know. It was a hit-and-run, but he was eighty-nine and couldn't see or hear well. Like Freud said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar-did you get any sleep?"

"A bit."

"Was I snoring?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if I was?"

"Yes!" She gave my hand a gentle cuff.

"Why didn't you wake me to talk?" I said.

"You were deep asleep. I didn't have the heart."

"Next time wake me."

"We can talk right now, if you want. This whole thing's giving me very definite creeps the more I think about it. I'm worried about you-what will the next call or mail delivery bring?"

"Milo's looking into it," I said. "We'll get to the bottom of it."

I took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back hard. "You can't think of anyone who'd want to get back at you? Out of all the patients you've known?"

"Not really. When I worked at the hospital, I saw physically ill kids. In practice, it was basically normal children with adjustment problems." The same kinds of patients Grant Stoumen had treated.

"What about your legal cases? All that custody garbage?"

"Anything's possible, theoretically," I said. "But I've gone through my files and found nothing. The conference has to be the link-bad love."

"What about that madman-Hewitt? Why was he shouting it?"

"I don't know," I said.

She let go of my hand. "He killed his therapist, Alex."

"Guess I could switch careers. But I'm really not good for anything else."

"Be serious."

"Okay-what happened to Becky Basille is the extreme. It's a long way from tapes and a crank call and a mangled carp to murder."

The look on her face made me add: "I'll be careful-scout's honor. I'll call an alarm company-get a referral from Milo."

"You won't consider moving out-just for a while?"

"Let's just see what happens over the next few days."

"What are you waiting for, Alex? Things to get worse? Oh, never mind, let's not bicker."

She got up, shaking her head, and went to the coffeepot for a refill. Stayed there drinking and looking out the window.

"Honey, I'm not trying to tough it out," I said. "I just want to see what Milo comes up with before I shake up our lives completely. Let's at least give him a day or two to look into it, okay? If he doesn't, we'll move to the studio temporarily."

"A day or two? You've got a deal." The dog padded over to her. She smiled at him, then at me. "Maybe I'm overdoing it. Was the tape that bad?"

"Bizarre," I said. "Like some kind of sick gag."

"It's the sick part that bothers me."

The dog snorted and jangled his collar. She took some cheese out of the fridge, told him to sit, and rewarded his obedience with small bites. He gobbled noisily and licked his flews.

"What do you call this?" she said. "Operant conditioning?"

"A-plus," I said. "Next week's topic is stress management."

She grinned. The last bit of cheese disappeared amid the soft folds of the dog's mouth. Robin washed her hands. The dog continued to sit and stare at her. "Shouldn't we give him a name, Alex?"

"Milo calls him Rover."

"Figures."

"I've stuck with 'hey, you' because I keep expecting someone to call and claim him."

"True ... why get attached ... are you hungry? I can dish something up."

"Why don't we go out?"

"Go out?"

"Like normal people."

"Sure, I'll go change."

The sparkle in her eyes made me say, "How about changing into something semi-fancy and we can hit the Bel Air?"

"The Bel Air? What are we celebrating?"

"The new world order."

"If only there was one. What about him?"

"Milk-Bone en le kitchen," I said. "I don't have a suit that fits him."

She put on a silver crepe de chine blouse and a black skirt and I found a lightweight sportcoat, brown turtleneck, and khaki slacks that looked decent. I told my service where I'd be and we took Sunset to Stone Canyon Road and drove up the half mile to the Bel Air Hotel. Pink-shirted valets opened our doors and we walked across the covered bridge to the main entrance.

Swans glided below in the still, green pond, cutting through the water with blissful ignorance. A white lattice marriage canopy was being set up on the banks. Huge pine and eucalyptus umbrellaed the grounds, air-conditioning the morning.

We passed through the pink stucco arcade hung with black-and-white photos of monarchs gone by. The stone pathways had been freshly watered, the ferns dripped dew, and the azaleas were in bloom. Room service waiters rolled carts to sequestered suites. An emaciated, androgynous, long-haired thing in brown velvet sweats walked past us unsteadily, carrying The Wall Street Journal under one atrophied arm. Death was in its eyes, and Robin bit her lip.

I held her arm tighter and we entered the dining room, exchanged smiles with the hostess, and were seated near the French doors. Several years ago-soon after we'd met-we'd lingered right here over dinner and seen Bette Davis through those same doors, gliding across the patio in a long, black gown and coronation-quality diamonds, looking as serene as the swans.

This morning, the room was nearly empty and none of the faces had a measurable Q-rating, though all looked well tended. An Arab in an ice cream suit drank tea, alone, at a corner table. An elderly, dewlapped couple who could have been pretenders to a minor throne whispered to each other and nibbled on toast. In a big booth at the far end, half a dozen dark suits sat listening to a crewcut, white-haired man in a red T-shirt and khakis. He was telling a joke, gesturing expansively with an unlit cigar. The other men's body language was half humble servant, half Iago.

We had coffee and took a long time deciding what to eat. Neither of us felt like talking. After a few moments, the silence began to feel like a luxury and I relaxed.

We finished a couple of fresh grapefruit juices and put in our breakfast order, holding hands until the food came. I'd just taken the first bite of my omelet when I spotted the hostess approaching. Two steps ahead of someone else.

A tall, broad someone, easily visible over her coiffure. Milo's jacket was light blue-a tint that clashed with his aqua shirt. Pigeon-gray pants and brown-and-blue-striped tie rounded off the ensemble. He had his hands in his pockets and looked dangerous.

The hostess kept her distance from him, clearly wanting to be somewhere else. Just before she reached our table, he stepped ahead of her. After kissing Robin, he took a chair from another table and pulled it up perpendicular to us.

"Will you be ordering, sir?" said the hostess.

"Coffee."

"Yes, sir." She walked away hastily.

Milo turned to Robin. "Welcome home. You look gorgeous, as ever."

"Thank you, Milo-"

"Flight okay?"

"Just fine."

"Every time I'm up in one of those things I wonder what gives us the right to break the law of gravity."

Robin smiled. "To what do we owe the honor?"

He ran his hand over his face. "Has he told you about what's going on?"

She nodded. "We're thinking of moving into the shop until things clear up."

Milo grunted and looked at the tablecloth.