Definitely not Seth Early, who was tall and lanky and almost always encased in denim. This lurker was short and stocky and wore a dark blue or navy track suit with a white stripe down the pants seam. Not the best choice for doing surveillance, since the white gleam of the stripe let me track his progress as he scuttled along behind the hedge and then disappeared over a small hill.

How odd. I opened my cell phone up again and called Mr. Early. Who was his usual taciturn self.

“Yeah,” he said, by way of a greeting.

“Hi, this is Meg Langslow,” I said. “I just wanted you to know that some guy was lurking in your pasture. He seemed more interested in watching our house than your sheep, and he ran away when he realized I’d spotted him, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks,” Mr. Early said, with a hint of genuine warmth in his tone. “I’ll check the perimeter. Let me know if you spot him again.”

“Roger,” I said. “And let us know if you learn anything.”

“Right.”

I felt a little guilty—I didn’t really think the intruder had designs on the Early sheep. But it never hurt to be careful, and Mr. Early seemed to enjoy checking the perimeter. His bark was worse than his bite, especially since Chief Burke had forbidden him to carry around his shotgun, so he wasn’t any danger to innocent pass-ersby. And odds were the man I’d seen was innocent—a shy birdwatcher, or a motorist whose bladder couldn’t last till the next service station.

But just in case he was watching our house . . . what if it was Jasper, or someone he had hired to do surveillance on Karen? Karen really hadn’t told me much about her marital status. Was she divorced, or merely separated, and was there some kind of child custody battle? I knew from talking to my cousin Horace, who worked for the sheriff‘s office in my hometown, how nasty custody battles could get.

I pulled out Timmy’s instruction manual and dialed Karen’s cell phone number.

No answer. I left a message. No answer on her home phone, so I left another message there.

Odd. If I’d just entrusted my toddler to a friend I hadn’t seen for a couple of years—a friend who had little experience taking care of small children—I’d have the cell phone not only on but actually in my hand, so I could answer before the end of the first ring. Or was that just me? Me worrying not only about taking care of Timmy, but also about the whole angst-ridden subject of Michael and I starting our own family. Not something most people begin worrying about within a few months of getting married, when they’re still getting used to wedded life, but since Michael and I were both well along in our thirties, we knew we didn’t have unlimited time to dawdle. But were we really ready? Specifically, was I really ready?