In the mid-twentieth century, North Park had been a delightful part of the city, situated around several acres of forested land fashioned into a groomed park. Developers built dozens of cheap apartment blocks to cater for a growing population who wanted to live in a pleasant, tree-lined suburb. But progress edged back the park’s boundaries each decade, to make way for higher density living, and when communal accommodation isn’t maintained, rents drop. They then attract a lower socio-economic demographic; this attracts crime and the entire area becomes unfashionable, run-down and even dangerous. North Park was not yet a slum but not a place for a New York Times best seller to visit. Unless she was researching a book. That could be her only intention, and if so William had wasted his time.

She stood out as if white on black, although she’d toned down her usual aren’t-I-quirky Orelia style, with dark pants and a dull-gray shirt. The olive-green Fedora hat covered her red hair well, but still stray wisps peeked out.

He stayed to the opposite side of the street about twenty yards back, following her as he’d seen done in so many movies. Ducking into doorways; intermingling into a group of people as he moved forward; pretending to stare into a window if he caught up to her.

They passed several bus stops and a train station after a good mile, and he wondered why she wouldn’t have remained on board until further. Orelia didn’t stop, nor waver in her choice of streets, as if she knew exactly where she was headed.

Twice, she paused at an alleyway’s entrance. She looked down each side-street, even taking a few steps inside before returning to the street. On one occasion, William had to turn away quickly in case she noticed him. Each time he crossed to her side to check the lanes, but he saw nothing. What was Orelia doing? It made no sense.

Just when he’d thought this was a wild author chase, she came to a standstill at a main intersection. Here the crowds grew in density as they approached the main shopping and business area. The mid-morning coffee rush was in full swing. The surrounding businesses were a mix of diners, twenty-four-hour lenders, a cash-and-carry, and a jewelry store that doubled as a pawn-broker.

Something across the street had appeared to catch her attention as she waited, near motionless, despite the crosswalk lights changing several times. William shuffled back and forth to keep her in view as pedestrians bustled by him. He followed her stare, but he couldn’t see anything that would be of such interest.

The supermarket on the corner looked like every other mid-sized outlet he’d ever seen. Security screens covered the store’s windows. Customers entered and left; six people in the minutes they had waited.

To the door’s right, a bearded, disheveled lost-looking fellow sat on a flattened cardboard box. Wedged between a green duffle bag and a plastic ice-cream container was a hand-written sign on a small white board. People walked by, ignoring him as if he was a ghost.