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help you with, right?”
    â€œYes. The phone, however, isn’t connected. But the guy’s coming the day after tomorrow.”
    â€œOkeydoke,” he said. “If you need representation at a court appearance, give me enough warning to get my suit pressed. If you just need a can opener, come over to the house. We’re almost neighbors.”
    He handed her the key ring he was still holding. “Here are the other keys. Like I said on the phone, I got both locks changed for you.”
    â€œWe’re neighbors?”
    â€œIndeed. You have the Ruschmans to the west, and I’m the house past theirs.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Thataway. Well, I gotta run. Lost my secretary, and I’ve got piles of stuff to type at my blazing twelve words a minute.”
    Meg looked down at the keys in her hand. “Is there another one? A small one for the lock on the cellar doors?”
    He shook his head. “Sorry.”
    Oh, well, thought Meg. Bolt cutters will make short work of it, if I ever put a washer down there and hang a clothesline in the backyard.
    When Mike was halfway to his car, she called after him. “Hey! Do you have a dog? A smallish brown dog?”
    He stopped and turned, a concerned look on his face. “She’s not mine,” he said. “She’s been around a few weeks. She’s one strange, spooky dog. Did she bother you?”
    â€œNo. I just saw her in the woods.”
    â€œStay away from her. She was hanging around one day by my place, and I tried to see if she was wearing a collar under that matted hair. She nearly took my thumb off.”
    â€œMaybe,” Meg said under her breath, “she knew you were a lawyer.”

Five
    As Michael Mulcahy’s car turned out of the drive, another pulled in. It was a well-rusted station wagon, and it stopped by the kitchen door. A tall woman got out. She looked to be in her early forties, but the thick blond hair caught into a ponytail high on her head was not as incongruous as it might have seemed on another woman of a similar age. She was wearing faded jeans and a football jersey, and her smile was wide and friendly.
    â€œHey, neighbor,” she said to Meg, who was standing in the doorway and holding the screen door open with her shoulder. “Jane said you’d arrived, so I brought coffee and sandwiches in case you need them.” She reached into the car and dragged out a basket. “Want some lunch?”
    Meg, whose coffeemaker was in the moving truck, nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, yes!” she said. “Mostly I want coffee, but I’ve never turned down lunch.” She stood out of the way to let her visitor in.
    â€œI’m Christine Ruschman,” said the woman. “You must be Meg Kessinger.” She set down the basket and motioned toward the daffodils in the sink. “I brought some jars. Janie told me about the flowers, and I thought you might need something to put them in.”
    â€œWhile I was drifting off to sleep in the Motel Six last night, I said a prayer,” replied Meg. “It went like this: ‘Dear Lord, Please let me like the house and give me a neighbor who anticipates my every need.’ I never had a prayer answered so fast. Except one time when I asked for a highway patrolman to ignore me, and he did. Your daughter is a darling.”
    Christine poured from a large thermos into two mugs and handed one to Meg. “Cream? Sugar? No? Yes, she is, isn’t she? So, you do like the house?”
    Meg smiled blissfully. “Coffee! I don’t know for sure, haven’t seen much of it.”
    â€œBut the kitchen?” Christine sighed. “The world’s greatest kitchen? I’m so jealous of this kitchen, I could spit.”
    Meg looked around. “I love the kitchen. But how were you brave enough to say that? What if my burning desire was to rip out all this stuff and put in sleek, Euromodern cabinets and track