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neighborhood wasn’t the kind of place one just tooled around in, so he must have had a reason for being there.
    His damn car was a Suburban—long enough for a family of four to live in. Well, who cared? I had to be professional and concentrate on the job. Earn some money. That’s what I’d do.
    A next-door neighbor came out, looked from the black Suburban to my Volvo and walked to her mailbox. When she opened it and took out a handful of mail, I wondered if I should ask her if she’d ever seen Tina lifting something heavy—or who the heck Mr. Instant Orgasm was. But wait a minute. That didn’t seem like a good idea. It could tip Tina off that the insurance company was on to her, and maybe have some half-crazed wife running out to slash my tires if Suburban over there belonged to her.
    I couldn’t afford new tires so I forced my hormonal imaginings to Dr. Taylor. Tried to picture him in my thoughts—naked. I waited a few minutes. Nothing. Somehow it didn’t do the trick.
    Although my car was now toasty warm from the heater, I realized that asphyxiation could come into play if I sat with the motor running too long. Also, not much of a mechanical wizard, I figured the tape player was sucking my battery’s juices dry. So, I shut everything off.
    Just then the front door of Tina’s house opened. A heavy-set woman in a neon yellow parka, black leggings, and a furry yellow hat came out—with a shovel in her hands! I lunged across to the passenger side and pulled the binoculars from the bag. With my gloved hand, I wiped the frost from the window and wondered how “staker outers” kept their breath from fogging up the glass.
    Then I shuffled around in the manila folder to find her picture. It wasn’t a very good one where you could see her face, but she did look like a plus-size kinda gal. Had to be her.
    A scraping called my attention back to Tina. The “injury” that had kept her from working the ortho clinic must have felt peachy today, because she was getting that walkway cleaner than my mother’s dishes. Obviously a snowblower wasn’t usable in this neighborhood, since the sidewalks were all crushed stone.
    I leaned a bit closer. Tina looked familiar, but the damn hat kept falling forward and blocking her face. I zoomed in my vision by squinting. Wait a minute! Antonina Scarlucci! I’d gone to nursing school with her back in the late eighties. Talk about a small world. Of course, several of us had remained in Hope Valley after graduation. But to spy on someone I knew? Damn. I hated that, but then again, she was a criminal, in my book. I vaguely remember her cheating on a biology final, come to think of it.
    That’s right. I’d heard she’d married Donnie Macaluso, who was a doc. And, something to give me pause, Tina’s family was rumored to have ties to the old Mafia. Gulp.
    But I had a job to do.
    Excitement had me fumbling between the front and back seats, where my gigantic video camera had fallen. I hoped it still worked. And, I hoped Tina couldn’t see me or the dick of a microphone. I pressed the on switch, hefted it up on my shoulder, and started to mentally spend the money I’d get for this case when I hit RECORD.
    Tina shoveled away.
    Occasionally I had to re-clean my window. But I was getting her on tape, so it didn’t matter. The Workers’ Comp claim would soon be dismissed. I’d have to get more evidence—something closer to prove it was Tina—because of the damn hat, but hey, this was a start.
    Truthfully, she looked like a giant bumblebee. Much like the old
Saturday Night Live
clips of John Belushi. The giant bee shoveled until she reached the street sidewalk.
    This investigating stuff was a piece of cake.
    A tiny black battery flickered in the corner of my view.
    Ack. I hadn’t had time to charge the battery. Okay. Professionals don’t panic. I zoomed in to get a clearer shot. She