“I heard about the break-in at your condo,” Stride said.

“The cops who showed up thought it was just kids.”

“Probably,” Stride told her. “They may have seen you move in and figured they could make a quick score. Those lakefront condos usually go to people with money.”

Tish shrugged. “No such luck. I’m doing a spread on Duluth for a Swedish magazine, and the condo managers let me use an unsold unit for the summer. That’s one of the perks of being a travel writer.”

“We’re still looking into the break-in, but it sounds like nothing was taken.”

“Right, my laptop was in my car,” Tish said. She added, “I don’t think it was kids, though.”

“No?”

“I think someone’s trying to scare me off.”

“Because of your book?”

“Yes. I suppose you think that’s paranoid.”

“A little,” Stride admitted. “It’s been thirty years, Tish.”

She didn’t answer.

“Tell me about the life of a travel writer,” he said, changing the subject. “It sounds glamorous.”

“Not as much as you might think. Sometimes I feel permanently homeless. Whenever I fall in love with a place, I leave.”

“What was your favorite place?”

Tish blew on her coffee and then took a sip. “Tibet. I love the mountains, but I couldn’t live there.”

“Why not?”

“Heights,” Tish said. “I hate heights. I always have. I had to cross this rope bridge over a canyon, and I swear they had to sedate me and pull me across on my ass with my eyes closed.”

Stride laughed.

“What about you?” Tish asked. “What are you afraid of?”

“Me? I don’t know.”

“Come on, there must be something,” Tish said. “Or do tough guys like you never get scared?”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Loss.”

She looked at him. “You mean like losing Cindy?”

“I mean like losing anything. I hate endings, good-byes, funerals, everything like that. The ends of books. The ends of movies. The ends of vacations. I like it when things keep going, but they never do.”

“How about you and Serena?” Tish asked.

“What about us?”

“Will the two of you keep going?”

Stride frowned. “Why do you care? Do you need to flesh out our characters in your book?”

“No, it’s not that. I think a lot about you and Cindy, so I wondered if Serena makes you happy.”

“She does.” He was curt.

“I’m sorry, is that too personal?”

He shrugged. “I’m a Minnesotan. We talk about the weather and the Twins, Tish. That’s as personal as I get.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Tish said. She added, “Beautiful day.”

“Yeah.”

“How about those Twins?”

“This could be their year.”

“You’re right, this is much better,” Tish said, smiling.

Stride winked and finished his sandwich. He crumpled the wrapper into a ball, got up, and deposited it in a wastebasket twenty yards away. He returned and sat down next to Tish again.

“Are you expecting a package?” he asked her.

“What?”

He nodded at the delivery truck parked illegally fifty yards away. “The driver in that van is watching you. He was following your car when you arrived.”