CHAPTER 17
“PEOPLE WHO LIVE in glass houses shouldn’t swing a club,” said Nate, “but apparently they do. How often do you have to call in the glazier?”
The pro shop manager smiled and gave three raps on the oak countertop. “I’ve been here seven years, have a house in the neighborhood, and we’ve never had a golf ball go through a window in Mountain Vista.”
Nate’s drive through the golf course neighborhood had revealed a mass of well-kept houses on tidy lawns, each composed largely of glass and offering a spectacular view. From both sides of the window. Occupants could look their fill at a distant Rainier or the local lake, but outsiders could also stare into the fishbowl habitats.
Nate introduced himself and showed his badge. He saw the manager’s demeanor alter, the little caution flag
