As she walked along behind the self-propelled machine, she scanned the neighborhood. Quiet, as usual. The older folks tended to hibernate if the temperature climbed above eighty-five, and kids today would rather play on their computers or smartphones than indulge their imaginations with outdoor games of make-believe.

Hmm.

Not a bad topic for one of her shows.

She circled the garage. Tired as she was, it would be wise to begin in the back. If she got the hardest part of the job done first, she ought to be able to muster up her flagging energy for the easier home stretch.

Tooling along the property line, she surveyed the adjacent yards. Just as quiet as the front. No neighbors visible . . . yet a faint whiff of barbecue suggested someone had fired up a grill.

That would be an appealing Sunday dinner—but barbecuing for one never seemed worth the trouble.

Those steaks in her freezer weren’t improving with age, though. And she’d wiped down the patio furniture an hour ago, deadheaded and watered the flowers in her container garden around the railing, cleaned up the stray kernels of popcorn that had spilled during the Scrabble game with her sisters. It would be a lovely spot for dinner.

Lovelier still, of course, if she was sharing the meal with—

Her step faltered.

Why was a piece of paper attached to the railing of the deck steps? It hadn’t been there an hour ago. She’d have noticed it while she was cleaning up.

Slowly she released the control bar on the mower—and silence descended, save for the chatter of a squirrel in the oak tree that shaded the deck.

Pulse accelerating, Eve circled around the mower and crossed to the railing.

A single, folded sheet was thumbtacked to the cedar upright supporting the handrail.

Could it be another message from her tormentor?

Her gut said yes.

But . . . how was that possible?

Unless . . . had Steve eluded whoever was assigned to watch him—or done this in between County surveillance gigs? After all, both Brent and Cate had admitted they couldn’t watch him 24/7.

On the other hand, her intuition could be wrong, given how she was jumping at shadows these days, looking for danger around every corner. It was possible the note had nothing to do with the threats. What if it was from a neighbor—Olivia, or Ernie’s owners? If that was the case, raising a false alarm would cause unnecessary angst.

Why not check it out herself first? In light of past experience, there wouldn’t be any fingerprints anyway. Steve had been careful all along—and he had more incentive now than ever to be extra diligent.

Eve scrubbed her palm on her shorts and worked out the thumbtack with a fingernail. Pulled it free and opened the note.

It was short and to the point.

It was also time to call Brent.

19