Yeah, or maybe it was holding out the ladder to tempt me into getting into even deeper trouble.

Still, I couldn’t resist. I used the ladder to climb from the rear terrace onto a deck that ran across much of the back of the house on the second story. I tiptoed over to the windows and peeked in, seeing only several empty bedrooms.

Nadine didn’t have any stickers warning me that she was protected by one of the several local alarm services, so I was pondering the wisdom of trying some of the windows and doors, to see if I could sneak inside, when I heard the garage door opening.

Damn! Nadine was returning at the worst possible moment. I ran back to the ladder, scrambled down, and began dragging it behind the bushes where I’d found it.

I succeeded in hiding the ladder but not in fleeing the scene of the crime. I spotted a huge boulder near the side of the house, so I ducked behind that. While scrambling behind the boulder, I whacked my knee into it, and was surprised to realize it didn’t hurt much. And that the impact had jarred the boulder out of place. I looked closer and realized that the boulder was actually made of plastic, put in place to cover up the water meter. I settled it back in place just as Nadine strode out onto the terrace.

I flinched, but she wasn’t looking for me. She had a highball glass in her hand, filled with ice and something liquid.

I suddenly realized how hot and thirsty I was. And my throat was dry and dusty.

Nadine sat on the stone wall that separated the terrace from the lawn and shook her ice.

I could feel a cough trying to burst free. I took deep breaths.

Nadine lifted her glass—there were little drops of condensation running down the side—and took a long swallow.

The urge to cough was growing. Was there any way I could sneak out of the shrubbery without her noticing?

She pulled out a cell phone, punched a few numbers into it, and then held it to her ear, with an irritable scowl on her face.

“Hello, I’d like to put my mail on hold . . . .”

Where was Nadine going? My urge to cough vanished as I listened to her giving her zip code, then her name and address.

“Beginning tomorrow . . . . Yes. Indefinitely . . . . I don’t know precisely when . . . well, then put it down for thirty days—I can change that if I’m back sooner, right?”

She scribbled something in a pocket notebook—the confirmation number, I assumed—said “thank you,” and hung up.

Where was Nadine going tomorrow for an indefinite stay? Was she skipping town? It certainly looked as if she’d already packed up and moved all her stuff.

She stared out across her flawless back lawn as she took another chug from the glass. Then she punched more numbers into the cell phone.