More than half of the wood was exposed now. The progress excited her enough that she decided to stick with this one job until it was completed. The floor would be beautiful, and, she added, thinking of Cliff’s comments, she’d have done it herself.

Maggie had barely scraped off two more inches when there was a knock behind her. She turned her head, ready to flare if it was Cliff Delaney returned to taunt her. Instead, she saw a tall, slender woman of her own age with soft brown hair and pale blue eyes. As Maggie studied Joyce Morgan Agee, she wondered why she hadn’t seen the resemblance to Louella before.

“Mrs. Agee.” Maggie rose, brushing at the knees of her jeans. “Please, come in. I’m sorry.” Her sneakers squeaked as she stepped on a thin layer of old glue. “The floor’s a bit sticky.”

“I don’t mean to disturb your work.” Joyce stood uncertainly in the doorway, eyeing the floor. “I would’ve called, but I was on my way home from Mother’s.”

Joyce’s pumps were trim and stylish. Maggie felt the glue pull at the bottom of her old sneakers. “We can talk outside, if you don’t mind.” Taking the initiative, Maggie walked out into the sunshine. “Things are a little confused around here right now.”

“Yes.” They heard one of the workers call to a companion, punctuating his suggestion with good-natured swearing. Joyce glanced over in their direction before she turned back to Maggie. “You’re not wasting any time, I see.”

“No.” Maggie laughed and eyed the crumbling dirt wall beside them. “I’ve never been very patient. For some reason, I’m more anxious to have the outside the way I want it than the inside.”

“You couldn’t have picked a better company,” Joyce murmured, glancing over at one of the trucks with Delaney’s on the side.

Maggie followed her gaze but kept her tone neutral. “So I’m told.”

“I want you to know I’m really glad you’re doing so much to the place.” Joyce began to fiddle with the strap of her shoulder bag. “I can hardly remember living here. I was a child when we moved, but I hate waste.” With a little smile, she looked around again and shook her head. “I don’t think I could live out here. I like being in town, with neighbors close by and other children for my children to play with. Of course, Stan, my husband, likes being available all the time.”

It took Maggie a moment; then she remembered. “Oh, your husband’s the sheriff, isn’t he?”

“That’s right. Morganville’s a quiet town, nothing like Los Angeles, but it keeps him busy.” She smiled, but Maggie wondered why she sensed strain. “We’re just not city people.”

“No.” Maggie smiled, too. “I guess I’ve discovered I’m not, either.”

“I don’t understand how you could give up—” Joyce seemed to catch herself. “I guess what I meant was, this must be such a change for you after living in a place like Beverly Hills.”