“I don’t know what I am. The cops think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.”

“No, you’re not. Here, let’s take this into the bedroom.”

She took the handle of Julie’s overnight herself, wheeled it into the guest room.

“No, I’m not. I’m not crazy. Things were gone, Lila. Strange things, I’ll give you that. Who breaks in, takes makeup and perfume, a pair of shoes and a leopard-skin tote, apparently to carry it all in? Who takes that and leaves art, jewelry, a really nice Baume & Mercier watch and my grandmother’s pearls?”

“A teenage girl maybe.”

“I didn’t misplace them. I know that’s what the cops think, but I didn’t misplace those things.”

“Julie, you never misplace anything. What about your cleaning service?”

Julie dropped down on the side of the bed. “The cops asked about that. I’ve been using the same service for six years. And the same two women come in every other week. They wouldn’t risk their jobs for makeup. You’re the only other one who has the key and the code.”

Lila X’d her heart with her finger. “Innocent.”

“You don’t wear my shoe size or red lipstick—though you should think about the lipstick. You’re in the clear. Thanks for letting me stay over. I just couldn’t stay there alone tonight. I’m having the locks changed tomorrow, and I already changed the alarm code. A teenage girl,” she considered. “There has to be some in the building. Maybe that’s it, just a silly stunt. A kind of shoplifting.”

“Silly, maybe, but still really wrong. Poking around in your things, taking stuff. I hope the police find her.”

“Be on the lookout for a teenage girl in Manolos wearing Red Taboo lipstick and smelling of Boudoir?” Julie snorted. “Fat chance.”

“It could happen.” Bending over, she wrapped Julie in a hug. “We’ll go out first chance, replace everything. Do you want anything now?”

“Just a good night’s sleep. I can bunk on the couch.”

“It’s a big bed, plenty of room for you, me and Thomas.”

“Thanks. Okay if I grab a quick shower? After-work salsa dancing.”

“Fun. Sure, go ahead. I’ll leave the light on on your side of the bed.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Julie said as she rose to take her nightclothes out of the overnight. “Ash passed the screening. I talked to several people—discreetly. Upshot is, he can get pretty absorbed in his work, has a bit of a temper when buttons are pushed at the wrong time, doesn’t socialize as much as his agent—and some of the ladies—might like, but that’s it. No trouble, no reports of violent behavior, except for punching some drunk guy at a showing.”

“He punched a drunk?”

“Apparently. The story I heard is, the drunk got touchy-feely with one of the models for one of the paintings when she didn’t want to be touched or felt. My source said it was well earned, and took place in a London gallery. So, seal of approval if you decide to let him come look out the window.”

“I guess I probably will, then.”

She settled back into bed, thought about stealing lipstick and designer shoes, about murder and suicide and hot-looking artists who punch drunks.

It all played through her head, mixed into odd little dreams. She never heard Julie slide into bed or Thomas’s mew of delight when he curled between them.

She woke to the scent of coffee—always a plus—and wandered out to find Julie toasting bagels and Thomas chowing down on his breakfast.

“You fed the cat, you made coffee. Will you marry me?”

“I was thinking about getting a cat, but maybe I’ll marry you instead.”

“You could do both.”

“In the queue for consideration.” Julie took out two pretty glass bowls of berries.

“Aw, you made berries.”

“You had the berries, the place had these really pretty berry bowls. There’s some lovely things in here. I don’t know how you resist poking around in drawers and closets. And I say that as someone who just had some evil teenage girl poking in mine.”

With a vindictive gleam in her eye, Julie tossed her flaming hair. “I hope she has zits.”

“Macey?”

“Who— Oh no, the teenage girl.”

“Right. Coffee not yet to brain. Zits, braces and an obsessive crush on the star quarterback who doesn’t know she exists.”

“I especially like the crush,” Julie decided. “Let’s have this out on the terrace, like I imagine the very tasteful couple who live here must do. Then I have to get dressed and go back to reality.”

“You have a great apartment.”

“You could fit two of my apartments in here, and the terrace is a big plus. Then there’s the pool and gym right on-site. I’ve changed my mind,” Julie said, as she loaded a tray. “I’m dumping you for the next rich guy I can get my hooks into. I’ll marry him and move in here.”

“Gold digger.”

“My next ambition. No zit-faced teenage girl could get through the security in this place.”

“Probably not.” As she stepped outside, Lila looked over at the boarded-up window. “It wouldn’t be a snap, would it, to get past security. But . . . if they let someone in, had someone over, or another tenant, or a really experienced burglar planned it. Except the police didn’t say anything about burglary.”

“He pushed her out the window, then shot himself. I’m sorry for Ashton, Lila, but that’s what happened over there.”

“He’s so sure it couldn’t have been that way. Not thinking about it,” she said, and wiped her hands in the air. “I’m going to have breakfast with you, even though you’ve dumped me for some rich bastard.”

“He’ll be handsome, too. And probably Latin.”

“Funny, I was seeing portly and bald.” She popped some berries into her mouth. “Goes to show. Anyway, I’m not thinking about any of it right now. I have to work today. I’ll put in a solid writing day, then I’ll call the rich and handsome Ashton Archer. If he wants to look, he can look. Then, well, there’s nothing else I can do, right?”

“There’s nothing you can do. The police will do what they do, and Ashton will have to accept what happened. It’s hard. I lost a friend—well, more a periphery friend—in college to suicide.”