“Oh yeah, it’s all about the car. Are you insane?” I waved my arm toward the street. “He’s a-a stalker.”

“And as stalkers go, he’s a hot one.”

“Oh, I’m so flattered.” I grabbed my wine and took a gulp. “The man has no sense of humor and he thinks I’m a murderer.”

“Sounds like love to me.”

I groaned. “Shut up.” I turned the lights up and headed back to the worktable. At least my personal stalker had given me something else to think about besides Abraham’s murder.

Robin chuckled as she backed away from the window and followed me across the room. “So, how’s the putrid pile of caca doing?”

The smell of mold and ancient leather and old paper wafted up and I’ve got to say, I loved it.

“It is nasty, isn’t it?” I said with a satisfied smile. “But this is my version of heaven.”

“You can actually fix all this?”

“Of course I can,” I said, turning the cover over. “I’m a genius, haven’t you heard? And I’ll earn every penny on this job because some of the damage is dismal. Will you look at this?” I pointed to a jagged rip on the end plate.

She squinted. “Is that duct tape?”

“Yes.” I shook my head in disgust. “On a John Brindley binding! Can you imagine?”

“The horror.”

“It gets worse.” I held out a stiff column of mottled, torn leather for her closer examination. “Rats. They nibbled straight through the-”

She jumped back a foot. “Oh, good God. Rat cooties on top of everything else? Get that disgusting thing away from me.”

“Wimp.”

“Freak.” Robin laughed again and shook her head. “Come on, it’s time to sleep.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m shocked. Good night.”

“Good night.” I gave her a hug. “Thanks again for staying.”

“I loved the old coot, too, you know. And I didn’t want to be alone, either,” she admitted, as she toddled off toward the guest bedroom. “Don’t forget to feed the cats.”