"You could "

"I could get a feel for the situation." That didn't come out right and Charlotte scowled when Bonnie laughed. "Oh, forget it What excuse would I possibly have to go over there?"

"Borrow a cup of sugar."

"We don't eat refined sugar."

"A cup of flaxseed, then?"

"I think it's best to just pretend he doesn't live there. So far, it's been a real easy thing to do because the man hasn't set foot outside the house in three days, except to go on his deck."

"Oh, really?"

"No mail delivery. No garbage set out for pickup. His lights are on late every night And I don't know when the hell he goes grocery shopping, unless it's at three in the morning."

Bonnie stared.

"So it'll be easy to ignore him. As far as I know, the man doesn't exist. Maybe it's all still my imagination, that I'm still making up everything about Joe Mills and his incredible-"

Charlotte stopped herself, realizing that Bonnie was still laughing.

"Go on," Bonnie managed. "His incredible what?"

Charlotte felt her face go scarlet. "Anyway, I did try the Internet once, Bonnie,"

"Really? So how did it go?"

Charlotte watched Hank and Matt sprint back from the pond to the swing set, Hank edging out her brother with a final push, then laughing loudly in triumph. The girl never let her brother win, and Charlotte had never asked her to. She hoped that was the right approach.

"Charlotte?"

Oh, hell She'd just avoided one pothole by stepping into another.

"I've never signed up for a dating service or anything, but one night, I went into a chat room." She picked up her-coffee cup, happy for the warmth that spread to her hands. "It was about six months after Kurt died. I was feeling sorry for myself. It was a disaster."

Bonnie's eyebrows popped up in a question. "Do tell."

"First of all, they're all psychos or people just as desperate as I am. Pretty slim pickings."

"I see."

"I started chatting with a man who seemed perfectly normal for the first fifteen minutes. Nice, even. But then-" Bonnie seemed to be hanging on her every word, and as embarrassed as she was, Charlotte supposed there was no harm in sharing4his with her best friend-she'd shared everything else. "He said he wanted to… uh…" This was harder than she expected.

"Ahhh. Cybersex " Bonnie nodded. "Did you do it?"

"What? Are you nuts?" Charlotte's voice was so loud she saw the kids look her way. She waved and smiled at them and they went back to playing. "He told me to go gather a bunch of supplies and come back to the computer."

"Supplies?" Bonnie's laughter sailed on the wind.

"Office supplies, mostly." Charlotte dared to look at her friend's amused face.

"Oh, dear," Bonnie said.

"Paper clips, rubber bands, clothespins, Scotch tape, and an empty beer bottle."

"And this would be for-?"

"You think I stuck around to find out?" Charlotte took a sip of her coffee, which was rapidly losing its heat

"And that was your big Internet experience?"

"That was it"

"Huh." Bonnie frowned, looking out at the rolling hills of the park. Then she sighed. "Look, Charlotte. Just go over there, knock on the man's door, and introduce yourself. Feign ignorance. Pretend you don't recognize him. See what happens."

Now that was an approach she hadn't considered. "You think I could pull that off? It sounds like something that would require advanced acting skills"

Bonnie thought for a moment, then put her arm around Charlotte's shoulder. "Well, I can always watch the kids if you want to hit the bars."

Joe knew that spending most of the day spying on Charlotte Tasker and her family was the last thing in the world he should be doing, but he couldn't stop himself. He was damn bored. He was dying of curiosity. Hell-he was just plain dying.

He'd spent the morning packing up his belongings, and everything was back in cardboard boxes except for a couple changes of clothes and the punching bags and computer, his main sources of amusement. He'd called Roger at home last night, only to be told to be patient again, that they were looking for somewhere else safe to move him. Patience, however, had never been Joe's strong suit. He was ready to leave. Now. Ready to get out of this town, this neighborhood. Ready to say good-bye to Charlotte Tasker before he broke down and said hello.

The woman was busy; that much he could say for her. Even on a Saturday, she seemed to be in perpetual motion. She was out pulling weeds by seven that morning, wearing what he noticed was a rather appealing pair of old jeans with holes in the knees. With just the right light, he could see a peek of adorable pink flesh under the shredded denim.

Then, about two hours later, her big oaf of a dog-who looked like some canine genetic experiment gone wrong-wandered out of the yard. Joe watched with a mixture of amusement and pity as she and her kids walked up and down the sidewalk yelling for the dog, eventually getting in the mini van and cruising the streets, calling out what sounded like, "Hoover!"

Bizarre name for a dog, if you asked him.

As luck would have it, Hoover suddenly appeared right on the sidewalk in front of Joe's own house, and he couldn't help but laugh watching how Charlotte lured the beast to the minivan.

She held a mostly melted vanilla ice-cream cone out the open door, continually cooing the phrase. "Creamy Whip, Hoover! Creamy Whip!"

The dog trotted merrily to the van, hopped inside, and devoured the cone before the kids could even get the side door shut.

The Taskers weren't home more than ten minutes before they all piled into the car again-this time with Charlotte's neighbor Bonnie Preston, the pleasant-looking older woman he'd seen with Charlotte that first day. According to the files Roger had sent him, Bonnie was a retired high school art teacher married to the town's former police chief, a guy named Ned Preston. The files said Preston was a former marine MP with two tours in Nam to his credit. Joe had yet to lay eyes on the fellow.

While the Taskers were but, Joe did about an hour and a half on the bags, made himself a roast beef on rye, watched something on Nickelodeon called SpongeBob SquarePants-which turned out to be damned funny, actually-then took a nap. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a nap. Maybe he'd never taken a nap. Maybe this marked the beginning of the end for him, a sign that it was only a matter of time before he could be found asleep in the Lay-Z-Boy like his dad, a thin line of spittle escaping out of the corner of his mouth, the evening newspaper ruffling in the wake of his snores.

Thank God the Taskers returned home about two, looking windblown and chilly. At least resuming his stakeout would get his mind off whether he was morphing into his father. Just because he might retire from casework didn't mean his life was over. Hell, he wasn't even forty!

Joe brought his desk chair to the upstairs window and used his government-issue, top-of-the-line Bushnell binoculars to watch Charlotte and the kids pull more weeds. The boy did wheelbarrow duty, hauling loads to a pile behind the shed right on the property line, which gave Joe got his first close look at the kid. He was thin and serious, with intelligent gray eyes. He had straight brown hair cut close to his head, except for a little tuft that stood straight up over his forehead, like he'd just stuck his finger in a light socket. Seemed the kid never met a tube of hair gel he didn't like.

A little later, Joe moved to the downstairs living room window to watch Charlotte toss baseballs with the kids and marveled at the arm that little girl had-she could smoke 'em! Then Matt pitched to his sister, and she'd smacked the stitching off the ball, sending it flying out into the street.