The garden behind David’s apartment house was his hideaway. The Gorski sisters kept it up beautifully, and for that he cut them a deal on the rent. The seventy-two-year-old identical twins had identical green thumbs and the air was fragrant with the last roses of the season. At least it wasn’t honeysuckle. Behind him a sliding glass door opened, then closed. A minute later Glenn settled himself in the chair next to him and drew a deep breath. “God bless the Gorskis.” David lifted his mug of hot tea. “Hear, hear. Did I wake you?” “Nah. Couldn’t sleep. Saw the light from your laptop.” He gestured to the computer on David’s knee. “You still reading that asshole’s shit?” David glanced at the Preston Moss speech he’d been rereading. “Somebody copied this guy last night at the condo fire, by design or smoke screen.” Glenn looked amused. “And you’re playing detective?”
