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had broken into the house with a wrecking bar.
    “I mean put up a new hasp, only fastened with a slotless head and inlaid so it can’t be pried out the way I did. Or just put on a new frame and door, which is what I’ll do if I’m actually buying it.”
    “Put up the new door,” said Cindy.
    “And what happens when the owner says no?” asked Jay.
    “If the owner says no,” said Cindy, “I’ll pay forthe door.”
    “Thanks for your help, Cindy,” said Don. “Sounded to me like you went to some trouble doing research on the place.”
    He noticed! “I did.”
    “Maybe at the closing you can tell me more about Dr. What’s-his-name—”
    “Dr. Calhoun Bellamy.” She couldn’t help sounding cold; she didn’t like being patronized.
    “I’m not doing a restoration here, just a renovation. I’m not trying to get the house back the way he first built it.”
    “I didn’t think you were.”
    “I’m fixing it up so I can sell it at a profit. But as long as you understand that, then I’d like it if you told me about him.”
    “I’ll do that,” said Cindy.
    Don brought his fingers to his forehead as if to touch the brim of a nonexistent hat. Then he walked briskly back to his truck and drove away.
    For a moment Cindy was annoyed when she realized she had been left alone with Jay. But what was he going to do, really? And he knew Don. He could answer questions.
    “How many houses has he done this with?” she asked.
    Jay shrugged. “About one every four months for—I don’t remember now—however long it’s been since his wife died. Two and a half years?”
    “Four months. Is he that fast?”
    “The other houses were smaller.”
    Only then did the reference to Don’s wife register with her. “He really misses his wife?”
    Jay shook his head. “I should have said his ex-wife, complete with ugly court battles over custody of their baby daughter. She claimed Nellie—that’s the little girl—she claimed Nellie wasn’t his. He said she was a drug-pumping drunk.”
    “Nasty.”
    “Yeah, but he was right on all counts. The baby was definitely his. And the wife was high on about five different drugs when she piled the car into a bridge abutment. The little girl—she was almost two by then—the mother had her in her safety seat.”
    “But it didn’t help?”
    “Might have, except that the safety seat wasn’t attached to the car. You can’t expect a mother to think of everything.”
    “My Lord,” said Cindy. “He must have been crazy with grief.”
    “Rage is more like it. We thought at first he might kill himself. Then we were afraid he might go out and kill the judges and lawyers and social workers who decided a baby needs its mother and they shouldn’t be judgmental about lifestyle differences when the drug use hadn’t, after all, been proved in the criminal courts.”
    “A baby does need its mother,” Cindy said softly.
    “A baby needs good parents, both of them,” said Jay. “Don’t get me started.”
    “What if I just want to get you stopped?”
    Jay looked at her, a bit nonplussed. “ You were the one asking about Don.”
    Cindy looked back at the house. “He does these fix-ups to be alone?”
    “Oh, he wanted to be alone. Some of us were clinging to him so tight that he finally told us to leave him alone, he promised not to kill anybody, including himself, if we’d just give him room to breathe.”
    “Good to have friends, though,” she said.
    “Yeah, well, friends aren’t replacements for a lost child, I can tell you that. And there was Don, bankrupt from the expense of fighting to get Nellie back. He barely had enough to bury her. Lost his contracting business. So he borrows to buy a rundown house out in the county, a two-bedroom ranch that wasn’t quite as good quality as a mobile home. But Don’s good at what he does so . . . here he is now, no debts, cash in the bank, and this is the house he’s going to fix up.”
    “So he turns his loneliness and grief