“Okay, there’s definitely a black car parked there.” I didn’t know a Bentley from a baboon, so I wasn’t willing to admit more than that. “How do you know it’s him?”

“Oh, please.” She put her fist on her hip. “A brand-new black Continental GT Bentley does not escape my notice, nor does the driver.”

“I get that.” Robin did know her status symbols. “But how do you know that Derek Stone is driving that particular car?”

“Just how many people do we know who drive Bentleys?”

“None?”

“Exactly.” She smiled. “And I happened to see him take off as we were leaving the Covington, so I know he drives that car.” She stared down at the street. “And if you wait a few seconds, you can see his profile when the headlights hit him just right.”

“Oh dear.” It was Derek Stone, all right. I might not know cars but I knew that rugged profile.

“I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to watch you like a hawk,” Robin mused.

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah.” She sipped her wine. “When the police took you away for questioning, I was pretty much stuck with him.”

I let the front curtain go, leaned against the bookcase and sipped my wine. “So, what else did he say about me?”

“You’re joking, right?” There was a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Um, gee. He said he’s going to ask you to the prom. What is up with you?”

“Nothing.” I put the wineglass down on the worktable and paced nervously. “He’s a jerk. I just meant, I hope he didn’t, you know, bug you.”

She started to laugh. “Oh God. You like him.”

“What? No.”

“You do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She held her arms out. “Hey, why not? He’s totally hot, I’ll give him that much. Great car, too.”