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chasing you when I wasn’t. I don’t want any trouble.”
    â€œYou don’t have to garden after midnight to accomplish that,” he replied with faint humor. “It’s obviously something you enjoy. You don’t have to give it up on my account.”
    â€œThanks,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes even softer. “I’ve missed digging around and planting things.”
    He felt guilty. Not that he had any reason to. There was every chance that she was still mixed up in this somehow. But perhaps she didn’t know what was going on. She might be an innocent pawn.
    He shouldered away from the door. “Don’t mind me. I won’t be spending weekends at the apartment very often. And the parrot won’t bother me.”
    â€œThank you,” she said, and managed a nervous smile. He intimidated her.
    He glanced back at her from the door, and he wasn’t smiling. “Where do you go on Sunday mornings?” he asked unexpectedly.
    She lifted a shoulder. “Church.”
    â€œIt figures.” He went out without another word, closing the door firmly behind him.
    The confrontation had eased Maureen’s mind a little, and gave her back a sense of freedom at home. Now, she thought, she could spy on him even better. Then she felt guilty, because he’d obviously been disturbed that he was keeping her from enjoying herself at home. He might not be a bad man, even if he was an industrial spy or whatever.
    She gave up her spying on Saturday for long enough to enjoy some gardening. She was out just past daylight, turning over more soil, with fertilizer and seed packages scattered all around and gardening implements littering the soft green grass.
    It was a heavenly day, with azure skies and a faint cool breeze. Just the right kind of day to plant glorious flowers. She pushed back her long hair, wishing she’d had the good sense to tie it up before she began. It would be impossible to do anything with it now, unless she wanted to smear dirt in it from her hands. She was getting dusty all over, from her faded sneakers and jeans up to her blue Save The Whales T-shirt.
    She was halfway finished with her day’s work when she sat down on the small sidewalk that ran around the back of the duplex and sipped a soft drink. She didn’t hear her big, dark neighbor until he was standing over her.
    â€œYou’ll ruin your hands that way,” he remarked.
    She jumped, startled by his silent approach, and almost spilled her soft drink.
    â€œSorry,” he murmured, dropping down onto the sidewalk beside her. He smelled of expensivecologne, and he looked pretty expensive in moccasin-leather boots, charcoal-gray denim slacks and a designer knit shirt that was a few shades lighter than his trousers. His hair was neatly combed; he was freshly shaven. He looked much different from the man she’d seen only in coveralls at work, and now her suspicions were really aroused. No mere mechanic dressed like that.
    â€œMy ears don’t work when I’m tired,” she murmured, glancing at him. “I thought you were gone on weekends.”
    He shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it with steady fingers and repocketed his gold-plated lighter. “I thought I needed a day off.” He looked down at her curiously, taking in the smudges of dirt and the condition of her hands. “You’ll tear your nails. Why don’t you wear gloves?”
    â€œI’m an elemental person, I suppose,” she mused, studying her hands. “I like the feel of the earth. Gloves are a nuisance.”
    â€œHow long have you lived here?” he asked conversationally while he smoked.
    â€œSix months, almost,” she said. “Just after my parents were killed,” she added, wondering why she’d told him that.
    He felt an irritating compassion for her. “I know what it is to lose a parent,” he said. “Both of mine are dead,