At the pool house below, I could see Ari Xanakis in the doorway in shorts, a tank top, tennis socks, and running shoes. I put him in his midfifties; short and barrel-chested, but otherwise trim. A lacy bib of dark chest hair spread out under his tank top. He had a pug nose, bright brown eyes, and a nice smile that showed faintly crooked teeth.

“I spend half my life down here. House is like a zoo these days. This is the only place I get any peace and quiet,” he said. “Come on in.”

“Are you moving?”

“We’ve leased out the house for a year, so we’re clearing storage space. That’s what the mess in the hall is about. Lot of that stuff I’m donating to a charity auction.”

I followed him to the gym and watched as he returned to his treadmill, which he’d put on pause. Over his shoulder, he said, “You can forget antiques, anything with a pedigree. Stella’s big on contemporary everything. Houses, furniture, modern art. Actually she doesn’t much like art of any kind.”

The home gym was square and had to be thirty feet on a side. The walls were mirrored and the interior was crowded with free weights and Universal machines—two treadmills, an elliptical trainer, a stationary bike, and a recumbent bike—all of it doubled and tripled in reflection. Ari mopped his face on a white terry-cloth bar towel he’d hung around his neck and set the treadmill in motion with the push of a button.

The start was slow, but picked up rapidly until he was pounding in place. He cranked up the incline and increased the speed. He was already sweating heavily, but he wasn’t out of breath. His shoulders and arms had a rosy cast from exertion. I watched the belt’s relentless forward motion, the seam coming around again and again. Our conversation unfolded against the mechanical grinding of the treadmill and the sole-slapping of his running shoes.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” he said. “Detective Nash says you’re a busy lady, so I appreciate your taking the time to drive out. You meet the bride?”

“Not formally.”

He shook his head once. “Might have made a mistake on that one. Jury’s still out.”

It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to his wife or the interior designer, but I could have sworn it was the wife. “I understand you’re about to leave on your honeymoon?”

“No worry on that score. I wouldn’t file until we got back. She might turn out to be a keeper, and think of all the dough I’d save. Did Nash tell you the story?”

“He didn’t.”

He shook his head. “You’ll hear it sooner or later, so you might as well hear it from me. I have no complaints coming because I got what I deserved. Stella’s husband dropped dead on the job. He was the architect on the condominium remodel I was doing at the time. Talented guy. Forty-eight years old. Heart attack. Boom. The four of us knew each other socially. So he dies, Stella’s at loose ends, and I stepped into the breach. Teddy was in LA, so I had dinner with Stella one night at the club, just being nice, and one thing led to another. Didn’t mean anything to me, but right away I realized my mistake. Teddy’s down at some seminar and I didn’t see how she could possibly find out. She gets home and some pal of hers calls and rats me out. She filed for divorce the same week.”

“She doesn’t waste any time, does she?”

“Knocked me for a loop. I wasn’t serious about Stella until Teddy booted me out, and then what choice did I have? When we hashed out the settlement, Teddy got the condominium where the poor guy died. How’s that for irony?”

“Not good.”

“Everything’s gone downhill since then. Naturally, Teddy didn’t want the place, so she decided to sell. Forty-six hundred square feet and the real estate agent told her it was worth a million or more, because of the location.”

“Where is it?”

“Downtown Santa Teresa. The penthouse suite in a brand-new office building. Eighteen months it sat. Teddy was living in Bel Air by then and she got the bright idea we should get the place spiffed up, have a brochure printed, and promote the listing with real estate agents in Beverly Hills. Sure enough, a hotshot actor came along and paid full freight. This was a month ago. Ten-day escrow, all cash, and no contingencies. Close of sale I knew she’d whip in there and take everything that wasn’t nailed down, so I emptied the place before she could. She ended with a million in cash. You know what I got? Only the stuff I managed to sneak out from under her nose. Real estate goes in her column, used furniture in mine.”

He waited for my reaction, hoping for sympathy, which he clearly felt was warranted. I made a noncommittal mouth noise. These were not problems I could readily relate to.