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locks his truck. “We better get Raffi to let us in so we can call the police.”
    And yes, Raffi's been mad at me ever since I refused to pay triple. But he takes one look at Jack and lets us in to my apartment. Whatever.
    “This apartment's not very secure.” Jack looks around my living room, his brows slammed together. He swipes aside the curtain to check out the sliding glass doors that lead to my matchbox balcony.
    “But I’ve got a broomstick in the tracks,” I say, defending my sophisticated home security.
    “Anyone who knew what he was doing could pop those doors off in a matter of seconds.” He says this as he moves across the living room toward the bedroom.
    The bedroom!
    Quicker than a snow hare being chased by a cougar, I race to the bedroom door and block Jack from entering. “You can’t go in there.”
    “Why? Is it a mess? You got a man in there? I don’t care. I’m just checking out how safe you are.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” I argue. “There’s nothing in there worth stealing.”
    “There’s your identity, and with a bank account like yours, it’s an identity worth protecting.”
    I still don’t move.
    Jack looks right into my eyes, and I have to concentrate so I don’t flinch. “Lisa, someone out there has your keys and your license. With your address. You’re vulnerable, and I’m trying to help.”
    My breath hitches. I swallow once, then slide out of his way.
    He swings the door open. “What the hell?” He turns to look at me. “You’re certifiable. Completely nuts.” He looks around at my beautiful, wonderful fantasy bedroom. The four poster bed, the snowy white comforter, the mounds of pillows, the billowy curtains, the free standing wardrobe, the ornately carved dressing table with its plush stool. “Why would you care if I came in here?”
    “Because I said I wanted to do something important with the money—and I do,” I quickly assure him, “but I spent some of it on me.” I gesture toward the cornucopia of classy comfort. “Obviously.”
    Jack looks at the room, then at me, then back at the room. “On this? This is what you squandered your millions on? A bedroom?”
    “It’s the room I’ve always dreamed of having, and I really went overboard.” I cringe inside, but decide to be brave and confess. “There are four others. Bed sets, I mean.” I take a deep breath, saying it all as fast as I can, hoping he doesn’t have time to judge me. “Okay. The quilt that reminds me of Little House on the Prairie , the orange paisley comforter that reminds me of my bedspread when I was four years old, the tartan plaid down that looks like English Christmas, and the comforter sprigged with wild flowers that makes me think of The Hundred Acre Wood. There. Now you know.” I stop to gulp air. “A total of five different bed sets. I couldn’t help it. I had all this money, and I just went crazy.”
    Jack considers me. “It’s okay, Lisa.” His voice is deadpan. “I don’t think you’re going to hell over a dust ruffle.”
    I think about that for a second. “Wait. You know what a dust ruffle is?”
    But he’s not paying attention to me anymore. He’s behind my curtains as he checks out the window. Next, he goes into the bathroom to inspect the small window in the shower. After that, he walks into the living room and just looks at me. “You’re not safe. You need to get a locksmith here first thing tomorrow morning.”
    I nod.
    “How long have you lived here?”
    “Seven years, about.”
    He looks at me. “Then lots of people know this is your address? It’s on file all over the place?”
    “I guess.”
    “You really should move.”
    “Haven’t we been through this?”
    “I don’t get it,” he says. “I know it must be hard, everyone knowing who you are and how much money you got. But you’ve had the time to do this right, to make it work. Find a decent, safe place. You’ve been out of the hospital for months, right? What have you been doing with