She smoothed her blouse again.

Joe looked at his watch.

"Oh! Please. Just follow me."

Then LoriSue Bettmyer strutted her stuff in front of Joe with such resolve that he feared she'd dislocate her pelvis. They went down the hall and out into the reception area of Sell-More Real Estate, where half a dozen women waited for him with open mouths and wide eyes. A pudgy grandmother type spilled her coffee.

"Everyone, this is Joseph Mills. He's the client who bought the Connor house."

They all nodded and stared at him as LoriSue bent over a file cabinet and rooted through envelopes, wiggling as she worked. Joe thought the woman should just get a tattoo on her rump that read: "I'm LoriSue and this is my ass." It would save time.

"So, are, you getting settled in?" the youngest of the women asked. She blinked rapidly.

"Just got to town. I need my keys before I can settle in."

"Oh! Right." She laughed nervously.

Then a rather mousy woman in a brown sweater asked, "Are your wife and children excited to be moving to Minton?"

Thrilled out of their little nonexistent heads. "I'm divorced. No kids."

The grandmother let out an involuntary squeak, continuing to mop up her coffee with a soggy paper towel. Joe glanced with longing toward the door and Main Street beyond.

"Voila!" LoriSue moved triumphantly in his direction holding the garage door opener in one set of lacquered fingers and the keys from the other. "The movers came yesterday, so you should be all set, Mr. Mills. And if there's anything else you might need-" She breathed in. "Anything at all-" She breathed out, handing him the items. "Please let me know."

"Thanks. I'm on a tight schedule, so I'll be off. Goodbye, ladies."

He got out of there as fast as possible, thinking that maybe he'd be safe in Minton, Ohio, because if Miguel Guzman's men ever came around sniffing they'd be eaten alive-picked to the bare white bones by a pack of starving females-before they could find him.

"His schedule's not the only thing that's tight."

LoriSue pressed her face up against the window while the rest of the Sell-More staff gathered behind her to make a few observations of their own.

"Did you hear that? Divorced. No kids. My legs are kinda shaky."

"He had that earring, though. Do you think he's straight?"

"Lord, yes. I could smell it"

"How old do you think he is?"

"Thirty-five, thirty-six max."

"I don't know-his eyes look much older."

"Maybe, but he has the bod of a twenty-year-old."

"And the booty of a Greek god."

LoriSue pushed away from the window and ran back to her office to retrieve her purse, pager, and cell phone. "I'll be out for the rest of the afternoon!" Her hand hit the front door handle. "I've got to catch up with a friend!"

"Quick, Justin. Hand me the Techno-Spy camera."

Justin Bettmyer reached down into the right pocket of his paratrooper shorts and scooted on his belly in the pine needles until he was stretched out next to Hoover the dog. "Did you get the plate number?"

"Negative," Matt whispered over Hoover's large brown head. "Bad angle."

"Was that a Mustang?"

"Affirmative." Matt took a few shots before the garage door closed. He then handed the camera back to Justin, propped his elbows on the ground, and returned the binoculars to his eyes. "The windows were too dark to see in, but it's definitely not the Connors coining back for something they forgot. My guess is we got ourselves a solo male suspect."

"What's our next step?"

Matt turned to Justin Bettmyer and smiled. "In a few days we check out the mailbox and the garbage. And we wait him out. Nobody can stay inside a house forever."

A voice carried across the yard and through the pine trees, causing Matt to wince.

"Ma-aaatt!"

"Jeez Louise, my mom's got lousy timing."

"Ma-aaatt! Just-iiin! Do you want a snack?"

"Any idea what it is today, dude?" Justin's eyes narrowed.

"Whole-wheat fig bars. They taste like dog turds rolled in sand if you ask me."

Justin's eyes widened. "Hey. Your mom's made those before and I think I kinda liked 'em. What to drink?"

Matt pushed up to a stand and shrugged, tucking the binoculars inside his utility belt, next to his plastic bowie knife, squirt gun, bent coat hanger, and notepad. "You know how weird my mom's been with food lately-probably your choice of soy milk or green tea."

The boys walked companionably out of the pines, the dog trotting between them. Justin looked down at his younger friend. "You ever have Kool-Aid, dude?"

'Three times-at your house. The red kind."

"Right.".

"I had Mountain Dew there once, too."

"Yeah."

"Mom'd freak if she knew.'*

"Yeah."

"I ate a whole bag of Doritos at Steve Jacobucci's birthday party last week."

"No kidding?"

"And a box of Nerds at Tasha Wainwright's skating party."

"Cool."

"Must be nice to eat whatever you want, whenever you want," Matt said.

Justin shrugged. "It's okay, I guess."

The boys came to a halt in the driveway. Matt saw his mom and Bonnie waiting for them on the back patio, a tray of snacks sitting on the table. Hank was already munching away.

"Your mom's pretty cool," Justin said.

"She's okay."

"She's always home when you are. She hangs out with you and stuff."

"Guess so."

"Must be nice," Justin said.

Charlotte took one look at the way her son was outfitted and sighed. She'd gone over this with him before, but it was like talking to a pile of bricks.;

"Have you been spying again, Matt?"

His head popped up from his snack and his eyes got big. "Just playing around, Mom."

"But you haven't been invading people's privacy again, right?"

Her son blinked. She groaned-and looked over at Bonnie.

Since Kurt died, Charlotte had searched desperately for something fun and educational to keep Matt busy, keep him excited and positive. Matt had idolized his father and loved him fiercely. When he died, he took the center out of the boy's universe, and nothing seemed to interest him. He skipped baseball last season. His grades plummeted. And then, suddenly, Matt developed a passion for all things related to espionage, and he set about collecting Mega-Wheat cereal box tops and saving his allowance until he could afford to send away for his beloved spy kit-binoculars, camera, decoder ring, notebook.

Charlotte had been grateful for the distraction until the day she dropped off several rolls of film to be developed and got a load of photo after photo of the residents of Hayden Heights going about their daily routines-getting into their cars, going to their mailboxes, taking out their trash, eating in their kitchens, kissing in their bedrooms.

"Matt?"

"What?" He stopped chewing.

"Have you been taking pictures again?"

"Just trees and stuff."

"Uh-huh."

"I learned my lesson, Mom:" Matt looked at Bonnie and swallowed hard. "Ned told me I could go to jail."

Bonnie gasped. "He didn't! "

"Yep. Juvenile detention for trespassing," Matt said.

"And he oughta know," Justin said between bites. "He's the police chief."

"He's retired, honey," Bonnie corrected him.

"But he still knows all about jail and how people get fried like bacon in the electric chair, right?"

Charlotte leaned toward her son. "I don't want to have to take away your spy kit, Matthew."

"I hear you."