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Who was this guy, and when had he started following me?
We’d taken Roger’s car to the Dickey home, so even if he was the same man from last night, he wouldn’t have casually recognized Cecil. Had he seen me (and my distinctive red hair) on my morning cookie run? I’d stopped by my office this morning before the coffee shop, just long enough for me to run inside and grab something. Perhaps he’d been watching then, tucked off-street at one of the neighboring law offices, and gotten lucky.
Which still begged the bigger question: why me?
I didn’t like this development. There was no reason to think I was in any danger, but it’d be nice to know if he was still around. And I preferred to find out in a public place. Both the library and farmers market were nearby, and either would do.
Every
