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He spun on the spot retraced his steps, and flung himself out the front door.

By the time Claire reached the back of the building, having paused in the lobby for a brief explanation, Dean was disappearing over the waist-high board fence to the west. To the south, Baby continued barking. Dean’s truck, a huge white gas-guzzling monster named Moby, and Sasha Moore’s van both seemed untouched.

“Carole! Carole, dear!” Mrs. Abrams voice didn’t so much rise over Baby’s barking as cut through it. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Slowly, Claire turned.“We had a prowler, Mrs. Abrams.”

“What’s that? Speak up, dear, don’t mumble.”

“A prowler!”

“What, in the middle of the afternoon? What will they think of next? You don’t suppose it’s that same ruffian who was lurking about the other night?”

“No, I…”

“We’ll all be murdered in our beds! Or assaulted. Assaulted and robbed. That’ll show them!”

Just in time, Claire stopped herself from asking,Show who? She didn’t really want to know.

“Has that nice young man of yours gone after him?” Mrs. Abrams didn’t actually pause for. breath let alone an answer. “How I do miss having Mr. Abrams around, although to be honest with you, dear, he was never what I’d call a capable man; had an unfortunate tendency to wilt a bit in stressful situations. He passed away quite suddenly, you know, with such a queer little smile on his face. I’m sure he’s as lost without me as I am without him. Never mind, though, I get on. As a matter of fact, I can’t stand and chat, I have our local councilman on the phone. The dear man depends on my advice in neighborhood matters.” A beringed hand lightly patted lacquered waves of orange hair. “He simply couldn’t manage on his own. Baby, be quiet.”

Baby ignored her.

“That’s Mummy’s good boy.”

As Mrs. Abrams returned to her telephone, Dean vaulted back over the fence and dropped into the parking lot.“I’m sorry. I lost him. He had a car on Union Street. Got into it and away before I got around the corner.” Frowning like a concerned parent, he quickly checked over both vehicles. “Seems like Baby chased him away before he could do any damage. Good dog!”

To Claire’s surprise, the Doberman wuffled once and fell silent.

“I wonder if this is his?” Dean pointed to a handprint on the van’s driver side window.

Staring at the greasy print, Claire felt her own palms tingle and was suddenly certain she knew who the prowler had been.“It’s the deliveryman.”

“Pardon?”

“The guy with the flowers this morning.”

“I knew who you meant. Are you, uh…” He waggled his fingers in the air.

“Manipulating power? No. It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch. Okay.” Pulling his sweatshirt sleeve down over his palm, he scrubbed the window clean.

Since she couldn’t point out that he’d just ruined any chance Sasha Moore might’ve had of picking up the intruder’s scent, Claire shrugged and went back inside to find Austin waiting by his dish.

“Catch him?”

“No. I didn’t know you understood dogs.”

“What’s the point of insulting them if they can’t understand what you’re saying?”

“You speak dog?”

In answer, Austin lifted his head and made a noise that could possibly be considered a bark had the listener never actually heard a dog larger than a Pekingese.

“And what does that mean?” Claire asked, trying to keep from laughing.

“Roughly translated…” Austin stared pointedly down at his dish. “…it means, feed me.”

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That evening, Claire was waiting at the desk when Sasha Moore came downstairs.“Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Is it going to take long?”

“Not long, no.”

“Good, ’cause I really need to eat before I go onstage or the audience is one major distraction; kind of like performing in front of a buffet table.”

Since there didn’t seem to be anything she could safely reply, Claire stood and silently led the way into her sitting room.

“I see old Gus didn’t take much with him.”

She didn’t want to know the circumstances under which Sasha had been in these rooms before. It was none of her business.

“You still got his dirty pictures up in the bedroom?”

“I’m removing them as soon as I have time.”

“Uh-huh.” The musician dropped onto the couch and draped one crimson-spandex-covered leg over the broad arm. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

Claire perched on the edge of the hassock, it being the only piece of furniture in the room that was neither overstuffed nor covered in knickknacks.“I think you’re being stalked.”

Long lashes, heavy with mascara, blinked twice.“Say what?”

Editing for time, Claire recited the day’s events and her interpretation of them.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but the flowers were probably sent by a fan, and you never actually saw the guy in the lot. It could’ve been one of the local kids taking a shortcut”

“To his car?”

Sasha snorted.“Trust me, parking sucks in this neighborhood.”

“All right, then, if it was a fan who sent the flowers, how did he know you were here? I can’t believe you’d tell anyone where you spend the day.”

“He must’ve seen me last night at one of the bars and followed the van.”