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his probing neighbors. “I’ve advised him, that’s right, and defended him in court, but I don’t know everything about the man.” He chuckled and looked about the group, settling his glance on Louise. “I only hope the guy hasn’t run into some woman determined to kill him.”
    Louise looked up, affronted, though she didn’t know why. Yes, she did; Cunningham always went for the stereotypical phrase. It’s a wonder he didn’t claim that Phyllis, the “little woman,” was responsible. As for herself, Louise was sure that some woman somewhere felt like doing Peter Hoffman in. “What a thought,” she said, sarcastically. “Isn’t it just as likely to think he’s fled the country? He seems the sort who might do that.” She leaned down and picked up the luggage to which she’d been assigned. “Anyway, I’m not wasting my time speculating. We need to get in the house.” She marched off, calling back to her friends. “Mary and Richard, want to come in for a drink?”
    The implied exclusion of Mike Cunningham didn’t bother her a bit. Though a boor, Mike was smart enough to know that Louise disliked him.
    Richard spoke for the couple. “We’ll take a raincheck, Louise.”
    â€œSame with me,” Cunningham called out. “And nice to meet the girls.” He fell in step with the Mougeys and returned to the other side of the cul-de-sac.
    As she walked up the flagstone path, Louise gave Bill a weary glance and said, “Some neighbor.”
    â€œI agree,” said Martha, trudging along while rolling two suitcases. “Why’d he move into this kind of neighborhood? Isn’t there some way you could persuade him to leave? Introduce a few big city rats into his garage or something? Otherwise he’ll be here forever, ruining your lives.” She flipped her long brown hair and sniffed. “That’s the beauty of living in a city, Ma. People are not so close—only when it’s mutually agreed that they should be.”
    â€œSpoken like a true city lover,” said Bill, grinning at his eldest daughter. “And now, when we go inside, I guess we’ll put in that mysterious call to Chicago, Martha. I can hardly wait.”

8
    L ouise was directing the girls in sorting the laundry, trying not to be too obsessive, but still worried that the casual Martha might try slipping whites in with the colored clothes. Bill was outside on the patio, his cell phone clasped to his ear, pacing back and forth. He was talking to Jim Daley.
    Martha heaved a pile of sand-laden shorts and shirts into the washing machine and said, “This is today’s equivalent of the suitor visiting the father in his study and asking for her hand in marriage.”
    Janie gave her older sister a bland look. “Do you think Dad will say yes?”
    Martha poked Janie in the ribs and then hugged her, as they both laughed. Louise smiled inwardly. This camaraderie was a good sign, she thought. The sorting done, they went to the kitchen to put away the groceries.
    Martha said, “The big question is where will we get married? I have to sort out the possibilities.”
    â€œYou need a list, Martha,” said Janie, at her officious best. Louise wondered if Janie was using the task as a defense against the highly emotional announcement that her sister was to be married. “I have just the thing: a yellow pad. With a yellow pad,” she proclaimed, “I can organize your entire life.” She opened a kitchen drawer and retrieved a lined legal tablet and a pen. The two sisters settled down at the dining room table, while Louise went and lay down on the living room couch. Looking out the big living room windows, she saw that Bill had collapsed into a patio chair, one leg straddling the arm, and was laughing heartily at something Martha’s intended was telling him. A minute or two later, he was through