probably discuss the details with your lawyer.”
“Mrs. Marsh, I’m sure we can resolve this without involving—”
“I know you believe that.”
Then I told him what I had watched all summer.
Mrs. Patterson’s driveway.
The Nguyens’ lawn.
The late-night engine noise.
The other incidents.
“I have photographs,” I said.
Dennis looked at me.
“Photographs?”
“Since June.”
For the first time since arriving, he had nothing to say.
“The garden was planted by my husband,” I continued.
“I heard that. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He planted it in 1997.
