âI was helping him out.â
âSure you were.â
âHe wanted my advice on what needed to be done around the Whitten camp, so I showed him. I told him to have it done and have them send the bills to you.â
âLike hell you did,â Marge said in horror.
âLike hell I did,â Sophie agreed placidly. âWhenever the town finally decides to sell the old place youâll get the money back. In the meantime it can come out of the rent.â
âThe townâs garnishing the rent for back taxes.â
âThen tell them to sell it to me.â
âYou canât afford it right now.â
âGood point,â Sophie said morosely, stabbing her slice of peach pie. The two women sat on the porch. âAnd that man probably can. He said he wasnât interested in buying it, but I donât believe a word he said. Thereâs no way a stranger would just show up here toting a bunch of books on serial killers if he didnât have some kind of agenda. And why the hell would he want to buy it? He was just trying to scare me. Though why would he want to scare me?â
âHe told you heâs really a reporter?â Marge broke in on her rattled musings.
âOf course not. And I could be wrongâinstead of a reporter he could be writing the kind of true-crime thrillers my mother used to devour. I bet if I look through her stacks of books Iâll find one with his picture on the back cover.â
âAs long as itâs the back cover and not the front,â Marge said. âYou know, it seems to me that youâre the one whose imagination has gone into overdrive. Lots of people read about serial killers.â
âThen heâs probably a very rich writer,â Sophie said grimly. âWhich means he can afford to buy the house out from under me.â
âI think you need to take a deep breath and calm down,â Marge said, pushing her empty plate away from her. âAnd you need to stop feeding me your food. Iâve gained fifteen pounds since you moved here.â
âSo have I,â Sophie said mournfully. âAnd I canât afford it.â
âTell you what. Get your mother and sister to help with the cooking. That way no one will be tempted to eat much.â
Sophie made a face. âGreat idea. Then Iâll be flat broke in a matter of weeks.â
âI thought you were already flat broke.â
âClose to it.â
âSo why are you wasting your time worrying about the Whitten place and your Mr. Smith?â Marge asked, practical as always.
âNot my Mr. Smith!â she protested. âAnd maybe I just want to be distracted from my problems.â
âAnd maybe youâre more interested in Mr. Smith than you want to admit. Thereâs no question heâs a very attractive man if you like that sort.â
âWhat sort? Tall, dark and loathsome?â
Marge grinned. âYeah, you keep on thinking that way, missy. If you ask me, the manâs hot, and youâd be a fool not to do something about it.â
âThe only thing Iâm about to do is check on my mother and sister. Mr. Smith can snoop around all he wantsâIâm planning to ignore him.â
âAs youâve ignored him so far? Good luck, babe,â Marge said lazily. âIf youâre really not interested in him Iâll have a crack at him. Heâs too young for me but I can be open-minded.â
Sophie opened her mouth to protest, then shut itagain. Marge was baiting her, and the awful truth was, Sophie was rising to it. She didnât want Marge sleeping with her mysterious neighbor. She didnât want anyone having him. She wanted him to simply disappear, as Sara Ann Whitten had so long ago, so she could concentrate on important things like her family and her extremely shaky business venture. She didnât have the time or energy to waste on a stranger with a hidden agenda.
âFeel