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could point out that Harold was on private property, he spoke again. “Did you hear the latest on our crime wave?”
    “Another burglary?”
    Harold nodded. He’d been hit by burglars the weekhe moved in, and he took any crime along the lakeshore personally.
    “You started quite a fad, Harold. Who’s been hit this time?”
    “That big white house down by the little cemetery. Terrill? Is that the name?”
    “Do you mean Tarleton? There’s a gazebo on the lawn? And a sign that says, ‘The Lake House’?”
    “That’s the one. The family came up yesterday for the first time this season and discovereda bunch of stuff missing.”
    “More antiques?”
    Harold shrugged. “I guess so. Were the Tarleton antiques well-known?”
    “Not to me. We don’t own antiques. Just secondhand furniture.” I decided that this was a good moment to point out tactfully that he and Alice were on private property. “Were you coming to see us?”
    “No, I’m just trying to get oriented. All these little roads are confusing.”
    “Thisdrive goes only to our house and the Baileys’. It’s not a city street.”
    Harold smiled an angelic smile. “I didn’t mean to trespass, but it’s an awfully pleasant walk. Do you mind if Alice and I come through here?”
    “I wouldn’t do it at night. We might think you were a prowler.”
    “I wouldn’t want Joe to run out with a pistol.”
    I ignored that. “And watch out for cars. The drives are only one lanewide, as you see, and we have a bunch of people going in and out this year.”
    Harold nodded. “I walked by yesterday evening and saw that your drive was full. You must have company. Friends or relatives?”
    “Some of each.” I looked at my watch. “Sorry, Harold, but I’m late to work.”
    Harold smiled, Alice gave a friendly yip, and the two of them walked on toward our house. I got in my van and droveoff.
    Harold was okay, but he was nosy as well as boring. I decided that his case of single guy syndrome was getting worse. Maybe Joe could get him to volunteer for some city committee. He might like to clean up the dog-walking area in the Dock Street Park. I snorted at the idea. Harold was none too conscientious about cleaning up after Alice.
    And he’d heard of another burglary. There had beena regular string of them along the lakeshore that spring and summer. I’d been too busy getting used to married life to worry about it, but at least a dozen summer cottages had been hit. Like the Tarletons, the owners often hadn’t discovered that they had been victims until the cottages were opened for the summer. The main loot had been antiques.
    For more than a hundred years, Warner Pier hasbeen populated by three classes of people—locals, tourists, and summer people. Locals, of course, are like Joe and me; we live and work there all the time. Tourists come by car or bus and stay in motels or B and Bs for a weekend, a week, or two weeks. Summer people own cottages or condominiums and stay for a month, two months, or the whole summer.
    Lots of the cottages in Warner Pier and alongthe lakeshore are seventy-five to a hundred years old. Lots of the families have been coming to Warner Pier for seventy-five to a hundred years. Others have built cottages—I’d call some of them mansions—more recently. Some of those cottages have valuable furnishings; some don’t. None of us understood how the burglars had managed to hit the ones with valuable antiques every time.
    I drove on tothe main part of Warner Pier, dashed by the library, tossed Gina’s romances into the return slot, and grabbed six more off the romance shelf. She likes the old ones, the ones with innocent heroines and no sex, not the newer ones with independent women and racy scenes.
    I went in the back door of TenHuis Chocolade only five minutes late. Ahh, air-conditioning. And ahh, chocolate. I took three deepbreaths as I came in the back door. Just sniffing it made me feel better. The ultimate comfort food. And I needed