Eve returned to the kitchen, fixed their drinks, and rejoined her neighbor at the patio table.

“True confession—I stole one of your cookies.” Olivia flashed a guilty smile as she accepted a soda.

“You can’t steal cookies you baked.” Eve bit into one and closed her eyes, letting the gooey chocolate dissolve on her tongue. “Bliss.”

“I’m glad you like them. What with all the recent excitement in your life, I decided comfort food was in order.”

“I agree—and these fit the bill.”

“I keep hoping the police will find whoever is behind the unfortunate incidents. Have they made any strides at all?”

“None they’ve shared with me.”

The woman exhaled. “I’m sorry to hear that. I noticed that nice-looking young detective leaving your house Saturday night and I hoped there’d been a break in the case.”

“No.” Eve took another bite of cookie. How to explain Brent’s visit? If she told her neighbor about the incident in the school parking lot, Olivia would worry more. “He was here to follow up on a few details.” True—except the details were about the latest attack.

“Oh.” Olivia’s face fell. “That’s disappointing.”

“I know they’re working hard to find the culprit—but in the meantime, I’m hoping he’ll get tired of the game and my life will return to normal.”

“I wonder if that’s already happened? It has been six days since that call to the station.”

“True.” Eve picked up another cookie and changed the subject. “These are delicious.”

“I’m glad you like them, my dear. Best of all, you don’t have to worry about how many you eat. Hard as you work, you’ll burn those calories off in a jiffy.”

“I wish.”

“No wishing necessary. It’s true. You’re refinishing floors, for heaven’s sake.” She shook her head. “In my day, women didn’t tackle such jobs. Not that we couldn’t have, mind you—but letting a man do the heavy work does have its advantages.” She winked.

“I see your point.” But having someone to work with her, side by side, on projects like this would be even more appealing. Especially someone with dark brown eyes . . . warm, firm lips . . . and character stamped on every contour of his face.

“Besides, all your running around keeps you in shape too. Going to the radio station at the crack of dawn, riding your bike, taking those spanning classes, your frequent speaking engagements.” She exhaled. “I don’t know how you keep all those balls in the air.”

“There are days I don’t either.” Eve took a third cookie.

“You gave a speech last weekend, didn’t you? At an outdoor event—a rally, I believe?”

“No, that’s a week from Saturday. Last weekend was the PTA talk.”

“Oh yes. I remember now. The next event is a picnic for politicians . . . or is it young entrepreneurs . . . or veterans?”