"Seriously, I'm fine."

His frown was softened by a tone of mock disapproval. "No beer, no soda pop. Can's open now. Might as well have a sip. You don't want the whole thing to go to waste," he said. Again, he proffered the Pepsi, waggling the can coaxingly in my direction. I took it to avoid a fuss. He reached into the cooler and extracted a bottle of Bass Ale. He flipped the cap off and held it by the neck while he seated himself on the floor. He leaned his back against the wall, his legs extended in front of him. His work boots looked enormous. He gestured at the empty expanse of carpet. "Pull up a seat. Might as well be comfortable."

"Thanks." I picked a spot across from him and sat down on the floor, taking a polite sip of Pepsi before I set the can aside.

Tommy took a long draw of beer. He looked like a guy accustomed to smoking while he worked. "I used to smoke," he said, as though reading my mind. "Tough to give up, but I think I got it licked. You smoke?"

"Once upon a time."

"Been six months for me. Now and then, I still get the itch, but I take in a couple of breaths just like this. . . ." He paused to demonstrate, his chest expanding as he sucked air audibly through his nose. He let out his breath. "Pretty soon the craving goes away. Where you from?"

"I'm local. Went to Santa Teresa High."

"Me and my brother come from Texas. Little town called Hatchet. Ever hear of it?"

I shook my head.

"Right outside Houston. Pop was in oil. Luckily he sold the company before the bottom dropped out. Poured all his money into real estate. Developed shopping malls, office buildings, all kinds of commercial properties. California's weird. People don't seem all that friendly like they do where we come from. Especially the women. Lot of them seem stuck-up."

The silence settled again.

He took another pull of beer and wiped his mouth on his palm. "Private detective. That's a new one on me. You carry a gun?"

"Occasionally. Not often." I dislike being "drawn out," though he was probably only being polite until his brother appeared.

He smiled lazily as if picking up on my innate crankiness. "So which do you prefer? Guys way too young for you or guys way too old."

"I never thought about it like that."

He wagged a finger. "Guys way too old."

I felt my cheeks grow warm. Dietz really wasn't that old.

Me, I like women your age," he said, showing a flash of white teeth. "You got a boyfriend?"

"That's none of your business."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, come on. You seeing someone steady?"

More or less," I said. I didn't want to piss this guy off when I was hoping against hope I'd end up renting the place.

"'More or less.' I like that. So which is it?"

"'More,' I guess."

"Can't be much of a romance if you have to guess." He narrowed his eyes as though consulting his intuition. "So here's what I think. I bet you're real schizy. Bet you blow hot and cold about other human beings, especially men. Am I right?"

"Not necessarily. I wouldn't say that."

"But you must've seen a lot of bad guys, the business you're in."

"I've seen some bad women, too."

"That's another thing I like. Bad girls, bad women, renegades, rebels . . ." He lifted his head, checking his watch as he did. "Here he comes. Fifteen minutes late. You can just about bank on it."

I glanced at the window as a pair of headlights swept across the parking area. I rose to my feet. Tommy finished his beer and set the bottle aside. A car door slammed and shortly afterward Richard Hevener walked in, tapping a clipboard restlessly against the side of his leg. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, over which he wore a supple-looking black leather sportscoat. He was taller than Tommy and a lot stockier, his hair dark. He was the somber brother and seemed to take himself very seriously. This was going to be a chore.

"Richard Hevener," he said as he offered me his hand. We shook hands and then he turned to Tommy. "Looks good."

"Thanks. Finish picking up and I'm out of here. You need anything else?"

I tuned out briefly while the two conferred. I gathered there was another property undergoing renovations and Tommy was starting work on that the following week. His manner had shifted in his brother's presence, his flirtatiousness gone. Their discussion finished, Tommy picked up the wastebasket full of carpet scraps and carried them outside, heading for the trash bin at the rear of the lot.