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Marnie Hibbs was kneeling in the fertile soil of her bed, digging among the impatiens under the ligustrum bushes and cursing the little bugs that made three meals a day of them, when the sound of the car’s motor attracted her attention, she glanced at it over her shoulder, then panicked as it came to stop on front of her house.

“Lord, is it that late?” she muttered. Dropping her trowel, she stood up and brushed the clinging damp earth of her bare knees.

She reached up to push her dark bangs off her forehead before she realized that she still had on her heavy gardening gloves. Quickly she peeled them off and dropped them beside the trowel, all the while watching the driver get out of the sport car and start up her front walk.

Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw that she hadn’t lost track of time. He was just very early for their appointment, and as a result, she wasn’t going to make a very good first impression. Being hot, sweaty, and dirty was no way to meet a client. And she needed this commission badly.

Forcing a smile, she moved down the sidewalk to greet him, nervously trying to remember if she had left the house and studio reasonably neat when she decided to do an hour’s worth of yard work. She had planned to tidy up before he arrived.

She might look like the devil, but she didn’t want to appear intimated. Self-confident friendliness was the only way to combat the disadvantage of having been caught looking her worst.

He was still several yards away from her when she greeted him.
“Hello”, she said with a bright smile.

“Obviously we got our signals switched. I thought you weren’t coming until later.”

“I decided this diabolical game of yours had gone on long enough.”

Marnie’s sneakers skidded on the old concrete walk as she came to an abrupt halt. She titled her head in stunned surprise. “I’m sorry, I –“

“Who the hell are you, lady?”

“Miss Hibbs. Who do you think?”

“Never heard of you. Just what the devil are you up to?”

“Up to?” She glanced around helplessly, as though the giant sycamores in her front yard might provide an answer to this bizarre interrogation.

“Why’ve you been sending me those letters?”

“Letters?”

He was clearly furious, and her lack of comprehension only seemed to make him angrier. He bored down on her like a hawk on a field mouse, until she had to bow her back to look up at him. The summer sun was behind him, casting him in silhouette.

He was blond, tall, trim, and dressed in casual slacks and a sport shirt – all stylish, impeccably so. He was wearing opaque aviator glasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but if they were as belligerent as his expression and stance, she was better off not seeing them.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“The letters, lady, the letters.” He strained the words through a set of strong white teeth.

“What letters?”

“Don’t plat dumb.”

“Are you sure you have got the right house?”

He took another step forward. “I have got the right house”, he said in a voice that was little more than a snarl.

“Obviously you don’t.” She didn’t like being put on the defensive, especially by someone she’d never met over something of which she was totally ignorant. “You are either crazy or drunk, but in any case, you’re wrong. I’m not the person you are looking for and I demand that you leave my property. Now.”

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