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cops exited, Sutter made her call the head of the safety patrol and leave a message, scotching her earlier suspicions. Then he ambled to the picture window set into the façade of the house. “Do you have anything to cover this with, like a curtain or something?”
    “I don’t use curtains .” She sidestepped around him and reached for a cord attached on one side to the semi-sheer white fabric bunched across the window top. She worked the cord, and the fabric floated down to the sill.
    Sutter eyed it suspiciously. “What do you call that if it isn’t a curtain?”
    “It’s a French shade.”
    He looked at her and smiled without mirth. “French.” His tone made it sound like an insult.
    Allie had worked hard to create a soothing environment for her clients. From the palest pink paint, she’d selected for the downstairs walls to the white moldings and trim. She sought to ease the stress, which often accompanied choosing a bridal gown. She’d strived to make the rooms where she consulted with clients bright and cheerful. The hardwood floors gleamed under a high gloss. Prospective brides usually arrived with a “concept” of what they envisioned in a bridal gown. Sometimes they had the merest idea, from which Allie must create the perfect dream dress. Preparing for a wedding was stressful for future brides, and Allie’s goal was to make this element of the process as smooth as possible.
    “Always keep the windows covered. The side one, too.” Sutter indicated the narrow, rectangular pane of glass that provided a view of the front steps. She went over to it and pulled another cord. Fabric descended, further dimming the interior light.
    “Is this necessary?”
    “Yes. Once Barnett rings the bell, if he spots me or Thompson heading toward the door, he’ll take a powder and, trust me, he won’t be back.”
    “You want him to show up here, don’t you?”
    “If he continues dodging the police up north? You bet.”
    “And I’m the bait.”
    “Just one of the things you signed up for.”
    “Let’s be clear on one thing,” she said. “I never wanted you inside the house.”
    He pulled a sour smile. “You can double that for me, but we’re stuck with each other.”
    Allie rolled her eyes as if to say, “ Don’t remind me .”
    In a metropolitan area, which ran the gamut from ultra-safe to triple-locked doors, Allie considered her little slice of the city to be perfection. Foggy days never put a crimp in her spirits. The wind, carrying the salty smell of the ocean on the air, invigorated rather than chilled her. Given any place in the world to live, she would, hands down, choose San Francisco.
    “I’d better do a security check.”
    Sutter’s voice reminded her that storm clouds occasionally rolled in, even in Paradise.
    Sutter went to the front door and played around with the two locks. “Good, you have a dead bolt. Make sure it’s always engaged.” Then he headed toward the rear of the house. This time, he took care to skirt the body form he’d danced with earlier. Once in the back room, he pointed to the lone window. “Cover this with something. Throw a shade or whatever over it, but do it today.”
    Allie had deliberately left the window bare. “I need the additional light in this room. I cut fabric here. One slip of the scissor could ruin a garment.” Replacing fabric, some purchased from exclusive European factories, was expensive and way beyond her present budget. With the semi-finals looming, there was no time to start over.
    He stared at her with obvious disinterest in her fashion problems. He pointed to the track lighting. “Bump up the wattage in those bulbs.” His tone said “end of discussion.”
    He turned toward a door cut into a side wall. “Where does that lead?”
    “To the garage.”
    He fiddled with the doorknob, nodded as if he deemed the lock mechanism to be adequate.
    He then moved to a second door. It opened onto a small wooden porch. He rattled the knob then opened