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respond to that. You don’t, do you?”
    â€œNot in terms of a person’s ride,” he replied. “Other things I respond to. Sure.”
    â€œNice boots,” she stabbed, quickly and efficiently. Calling his number. “Some kind of endangered snake or something?” Leading the way toward the front door, she let him have two very active cheeks. She was no stranger to the Stairmaster. The woman was a prepared, well-conceived package. He warned himself to watch out; he’d have his checkbook out in a minute if he wasn’t careful.
    She keyed the front door. “Owners are overseas. Microsoft. Paris. They have it priced at five-fifteen. They bought high, a couple years back. Comps would put it closer to four and a half. I don’t represent them—only you—so I can tell you all this.”
    He realized his mistake then and he chastised himself. Sometimes he was too flip, too impressed by his own genius to step back and look at what he was doing. Boldt was forever on his case: “Lose just a little of the attitude, John, and maybe there’s no one better at what you do.”
    He had picked the wrong house. He should have manipulated her into the house across the street from the Shotzes. The visual environment was a great stimulus to memory. He tuned her out briefly while debating how to pull the switch on her. He could claim poverty. The one across from Shotz had to be in the twos, if that.
    â€œIf someone puts a chain saw to those four pines down there, then the lake view might justify the low fives,” she said, pointing down the hill. She wore fire-engine red nail polish. It worked with the Mexican skirt. “It’s a killer view, I’m sure, but those trees are our bargaining chip.” She moved well. Knew her body. She did a slight spin and faced him, her skirt still following. “You single … or married?” she added as an afterthought.
    â€œThey’re ostrich.”
    â€œThey’re expensive , don’t you mean?” She played her game right to the edge. “The Hummer is eighty-K before the extras. That’s what you want to know. Am I right?”
    The expression—“Am I right?”—was one his lieutenant, Shoswitz, used all the time. It sounded funny coming from a pair of moist red lips. “Single,” he said.
    She bit the corner of her lip, lowered her head demurely and looked out the tops of her eyes at him—her little girl look. Convincing, too. “We’re going to do some business here, John.” Allowing a full grin, she asked, “Do you get that feeling?”
    â€œI got all sorts of feelings going at the moment,” he answered.
    She barked a small laugh of surprise. Maybe he had scored one on her. She whisked past him, close enough for her skirt to drag on his jeans and make a whispering sound. “Let me show you the rest.”
    â€œI’d like that,” he added so quickly it sounded as if he’d expected the line.
    She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, you will. It’s dreamy. Everything you’re looking for, and more.”
    â€œIs it built to take it?” he asked, following her up. “A single guy can kind of put a place to the test.”
    â€œOh, I think it can handle a guy like you, John. I think we’ve got a good match, here.”
    It was a little too much fun for him to want to spoil things. He enjoyed this kind of sparring. Didn’t find much of it anymore. Maybe he’d been pursuing women too young, he thought.
    â€œHow about you?” he asked, reaching the top landing. “All those rings, a guy can’t tell if you’re married or not.”
    She held up her left hand and examined the assortment of jewelry. “Is that right?” she said. “Well, you’d never make much of a detective, would you? Do you see a wedding band anywhere here?” She held out the hand for him, pulled it into a fist