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to revamp the place and wanted to make sure she'd gotten her money's worth.
    On the drive over, she wondered if Mark, Curly's son, had ever gotten out of school. Nice guy, but he didn't have much to offer. Maybe a life of debt, and a house filled with kids. The thought made her shudder.
    She turned the corner toward her little cottage and stiffened. Two men and a woman stood at the edge of the street facing the property. She recognized the tall one with the cowboy hat. “Damn! Hawkman again,” she said aloud. “Is he going to show up everywhere I turn?"
    There were no side streets until she passed the house. A U-turn would draw attention, so she drove by with her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hawkman glanced her way. A chill ran down her spine, a sure sign of trouble.
    She hardly recognized the little house where she'd resided for a few weeks. The company had done a good job and the place looked terrific. Too bad she couldn't see the inside. It appeared the nosy private investigator and the tenant were friends, so Hawkman had probably warned Mr. Sullivan about the clouded title. She took a deep breath. Clearing this mess up better not take long; she could already smell trouble. Maybe she should forget the whole thing and go back to South America. She gritted her teeth. But why should she? After all, she owned the property.
    Turning at the next block, she headed toward the motel. Tomorrow morning she'd be at the recorder's office as soon as they opened. They didn't need any identification, only the deed. She'd deal with the back rental payments deposited in her aunt's name later. That procedure could be handled through the mail or by the rental agency.
    She needed to contact Charley Sullivan and settle on a price. Maybe she'd use her alias, Shirley Ann Noland and pose as a representative for Jamey Schyler. Why not? The tenant didn't know what she looked like. Not wanting to chance Hawkman's showing up at the house, she'd make an appointment to meet Mr. Sullivan at a coffee shop or restaurant.
* * * *
    While Charley explained his garden plans to Jennifer, Hawkman stood patiently and glanced at the big white Cadillac cruising by. He watched the car until it turned the next corner and thought it odd, as one usually didn't see many expensive vehicles in this neighborhood. Then he brought his attention back to the conversation. They soon said their goodbyes with Charley promising Jennifer she'd get a nice batch of the crops when they ripened.
    After they arrived home, Jennifer placed the hat box on the kitchen counter and warned Hawkman with a shake of her finger, not to peek until she got back in the room. She hooked her hand around the handle of the luggage and pulled it back to the bedroom. He scooted the box around on the cabinet and spotted the word ‘Stetson’ on one side, which piqued his interest.
    "Hurry up,” he called. “I want to see my hat."
    Laughing, Jennifer hurried back into the room. “Okay, you can look now. I want you to know I had to purchase that box to protect if from getting crushed on the plane."
    Hawkman chuckled, then quickly lifted the lid and pulled out the felt Catera; the color of bark with a leather band. “Oh, man, is this ever good-looking.” He immediately removed his old leather hat and plopped on the new one. “It fits perfectly."
    Jennifer walked around him, eyeing her purchase. “It's you all right. I really like it. Especially with your mustache. You needed a new hat.” She wrinkled her nose as she picked up the old one with her forefinger and thumb. “Throw this thing away or hang it in the garage."
    Hawkman frowned and took it from her hand. “I can't throw this away. My old pal, Leon, handcrafted it especially for me.” He dropped it into the Stetson box. “I'll just put it away in the closet."
    She smiled. “Okay."
* * * *
    The next day at his office, Hawkman received a phone call from Sheila at the assessor's office.
    "You asked