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the windows open, you could hear music, and maybe see women in beautiful clothes, and the most handsome men. Now and then, she’d come into town, or just drive around in her convertible. A picture she made.”
    Patty picked up the pitcher again, as if she had to keep her hands busy. “She stopped by our house once, when we had a litter of puppies for sale. Five dollars. Our collie had herself a liaison with a traveling salesman of indeterminate origin. She bought a puppy from us. Sat right down on the ground and let those pups jump and crawl all over her. And laughed and laughed. She had such a wonderful laugh.
    “I’m sorry. I’m going on, aren’t I?”
    “No. I didn’t know any of this. I don’t know nearly enough. Was that the dog that . . .”
    “It was. She called him Hero. Old Fred Bates found him wandering the road and loaded him in his pickup, took him back. He was the one who found her that morning. It was a sad day. But now you’re here.” Again, Patty laid a hand over Cilla’s. “There’ll be lights and music again.”
    “She bought the dog from you,” Cilla murmured, “and the farm from your grandfather.” She looked at Gavin. “I guess it’s another circle. Maybe you could help me with the gardens.”
    “I’d like that.”
    “I hired a landscaper today, but I have to decide what I want put in. I’ve got a book on gardening in this zone, but I could use some direction.”
    “It’s a deal. And I’ve got a couple of gardening books that might give you more ideas.”
    “A couple?”
    Gavin grinned at his wife’s rolling eyes. “A few more than a couple. Who’d you hire?”
    “Morrow? Brian Morrow?”
    “Good choice. He does good work, and he’s reliable. Was a football star back in high school, and never pushed himself to be more than a dead average student. But he’s built up a good business and reputation for himself.”
    “So I hear. I met another of your former students today. Ford Sawyer.”
    “Of course,” Patty put in. “He lives right across the road.”
    “Clever boy, always was.” Gavin nodded over his tea. “Tended to day-dream, but if you engaged his mind, he’d use it. He’s done well for himself, too.”
    “Has he? How?”
    “He writes graphic novels. Illustrates them, too, which isn’t usual, I’m told. The Seeker ? That’s his. It’s interesting work.”
    “ The Seeker . Super-crime-fighter sort of thing?”
    “Along those lines. A down-on-his-luck private investigator stumbles across a madman’s plot to destroy the world’s great art through the use of a molecular scrambler that renders them invisible. His hopes to stop them—and secure his own fame and fortune—result in the murder of his devoted girlfriend. He himself is left for dead, but he’s also exposed to the scrambler.”
    “And is imbued with the power of invisibility,” Cilla finished. “I’ve heard of this. A couple of the guys who worked on my flips were into graphic novels. God knows Steve was,” she said, referring to her ex-husband. “They’d argue the Seeker versus the Dark Knight or X-Men as compared to the Fantastic Four half the day. When I said something about grown men and comic books, I got the fish eye.”
    “Gavin enjoys them. Well, Ford’s in particular.”
    “Do you really?” The image of the quiet-natured high school teacher poring over superhero comics amused her. “Because he’s a former student?”
    “That’s certainly a factor. And the boy tells a good, meaty story centered on a complicated character who seeks redemption by seeking out evil. He attempted to do the right thing, but for all the wrong reasons. To stop a madman but for his own personal gain. And that single act cost the life of the woman who loved him, and whom he’d treated carelessly. His power of invisibility becomes a metaphor—he becomes a hero but will never be seen. Interesting work.”
    “He’s single,” Patty added, and made Gavin laugh. “Well, I’m only mentioning it