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another, will you answer my questions too? Starting with where you’re from?”
    He smiled. “San Francisco. My turn. What brings you to Orlando?”
    “ Delta Airlines,” she snapped. “As I’m sure you deduced from the luggage on the porch.” His expression hardened at the testiness of her reply. Too many of her own encounters with chip-on-the-shoulder citizens mellowed her tone. “Sorry. That was rude of me. I wanted a change, okay?” She grabbed some cans and stuck them in a cabinet. “Enough, Deputy. Interview is finished. I have things to do.”
    “ One more question. What did you do in Pine Hills?”
    Colleen made sure her gaze didn’t waver. “Desk jockey. You know. Phones, filing, faxes.” Not a lie, that’s exactly what she’d been doing before she quit.
    He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thanks. That should do it. But I might be back.” He opened the door.
    He’d walked about five paces when she hollered after him. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that Jeffrey would be looking at land in Alaska in November?”
    With that, Colleen stepped inside and closed the door. Something about Harrigan unsettled her, so she was going to forget him and turn this yellow and green floral arrangement into something she could live in. She found a rock station on the stereo, changed into dry clothes and let her mind float as she put away her things. She was home. She had a bed, a hot shower and an adequate food supply. And thanks to Blockbuster, some entertainment.
    Colleen opened one of her suitcases and dug beneath a pile of shirts and sweaters until her fingers made contact with the bubble-wrapped packet. She opened it and stared at the photograph, then set it in the center of the shelf directly above the television.
    Squinting at the picture, she saw herself at age ten, already hitting a growth spurt, all knees and elbows, her hair a mass of frizzy red curls. Her three brothers mugged for the camera, blissfully unaware of the grown-up responsibilities that awaited. A family portrait, taken right before her oldest brother, Michael, left for college. Such happy times. Her mother’s face glowed with pride. How young her father looked, with his red hair still thick and wavy. Colleen had his green eyes, although everyone said she took after her mom.
    Colleen concentrated on that image and pushed away the memory of her mother’s face when they’d said their goodbyes. The look of pain, of defeat, knowing she couldn’t make the hurt go away for her baby girl, but a look that said she accepted Colleen’s decision.
    Well, she wasn’t a baby girl anymore. It was time to move on. She unearthed one more bubble-wrapped package from the depths of her suitcase. Slitting the tape, she carefully unrolled the wrap and pulled out the half-full bottle of single malt Scotch.
    She put it on the shelf next to the family photo, rotating it so the black line glared at her. The line she’d drawn with an indelible marker, at the level of whisky in the bottle. She ran her fingers run down the smooth glass. She gripped the cap.
    No. Suck it up. She wasn’t a drunk. Until the incident, she hardly drank at all.
    She set the bottle back on the shelf. With shaking fingers, she turned it around so the line wasn’t visible.
    For dinner that night, her first real night in her new home, Colleen made herself a salad, sautéed a salmon filet, squeezed a lemon over it and nuked some broccoli. Half of her cooking repertoire. The alternative was a chicken breast and green beans. She carried everything into the living room and settled in front of the television for her date with Bond. The original James Bond.
    When the closing credits rolled, she carried her empty plate to the sink and grabbed a giant chocolate chip cookie. An explosion resounded through the room. Her heart jumped to her throat and she instinctively reached for the nonexistent gun at her hip. The cookie fell, and she hit the floor.
    She tried to quell her pounding heart,