Asphodella Whittaker frowned at the man standing as if he belonged on her front porch. From the hard set of his jaw to the dark creases beneath his eyes, she didn’t need ESP to know her neighbor wasn’t pleased. Common sense dictated she show him the screen door before he began shouting, but when he crossed his arms over that broad chest, Asphodella knew any hopes of getting the man to leave were a pipe dream.

“Alright, Miss Whittaker,” Garrett Sterling growled. “What’s the story this time?”

Asphodella offered a smile and a neighborly wave. “Lovely morning, Officer Sterling,” she said. “Please call me Asphie.”

Cheap sneakers bounced off her oak porch in clear agitation. “Lovely, Miss Whittaker?” he repeated. “My dog begs to disagree.”

 “That’s funny,” she said, tapping her chin in mock thought. “I thought Smudge liked you as much as he loved tormenting my cat, Willow.”

A smile played on her lips. “Amazing what a change of scenery can do to a dog.”

“He did,” he grunted, “until yesterday. Poor pup can’t look at a tree without shivering now.”

Asphie’s smile grew tight as she poked a hole where Garrett’s mutt-loving heart should have been.  “There’s a leash law around here. If you’d kept Smudge bound to one, his four paws would have remained on the grass instead of in the tree’s branches. Thanks to that conniving mutt, my poor Willow won’t touch grass, let alone piddle outside of the house.”

Garrett sighed, pushed away her finger with the patience of a man who hadn’t seen sleep in days. “Dogs aren’t meant to climb trees, Miss Whittaker. And cats belong in a house, not piddling on my Pete moss.”

With an elegant sniff, Asphodella Whittaker said, “Regardless, Officer, it is a lovely morning. Do try not to ruin mine by barking up the wrong tree.”