Abigail rolled her eyes and walked across the hard white tiles to the sparkling clean kitchen. “We use Philips Snow Removal, and a very nice man named Brutus does my driveway and walk once a day. He’s around sixty and brings me homemade wine, whether I want him to or not. Philips Snow Removal is owned by Brutus and his three brothers, Joe, Jake, and John. Apparently, Brutus was a surprise years later, and his enterprising mama decided to throw caution to the wind and not use a J for his name.” She reached into a cupboard and brought out a bottle of red wine. “Does that tell you everything you need to know about my walkway?”

Actually, it did. “Have you or your neighbors ever used either Greenfield Architecture and Landscaping or Harvey Brewerston to plow your roads or shovel your drive?”

“Not in the years that I’ve lived here,” Abigail said, opening the bottle.

So much for that idea. “I don’t need wine.”

“Nobody needs wine.” Abigail drew out two large wine glasses and poured generously. “Wine is a desire. This is a Leonetti Cabernet, and it costs more than you make in a week. Please at least enjoy it.”

The cabernet was fragrant and enticing. Laurel sighed and drew out a silver stool at the tall granite bar counter that fronted the kitchen. “I’m here on a case, Abigail.” Even so, she accepted the glass and sniffed in appreciation. One thing she’d learned about Abigail was that the woman did appreciate good wine. Really good wine. She took a sip and the potent brew detonated on her tongue. Her gaze caught on a high-end silver kettle next to an apothecary jar containing her mother’s tea.

Abigail followed her gaze. “I subscribe to the monthly club. The destination city theme this year is a smart marketing idea. Yours?”

“No.” Laurel took another drink.

“Oh. Well, have you found the killer who is now stalking me?”

Laurel set down the glass. “No. Tell me how you’ve been stalked, besides the flowers on your front lawn.”

Abigail sighed. “I can’t explain it, really. Which as you know, is something of a new experience for me. I can explain almost anything.” She took a generous drink of the wine. “The flowers were an obvious sign. But the others, I don’t know. It’s as if I feel somebody watching me sometimes, and other times, things are off. Like the snow is brushed off my car before I get to it at school, or the bulletin board outside my office is slightly rearranged.”

“Any threats?”