Mutt turned her back on her.

Oh, come on, Mutt, Kate said.

The doorway to Jim‘s office remained empty.

Then the door behind her opened and Jim walked in, and Mutt bounced out right past Kate as if Kate wasn‘t even there. There followed a red carpet welcome for Jim Chopin that would have shamed the producers of an Oscar Award ceremony. Jim, bending down to exchange salutations, quirked an eyebrow at Kate. Told you she‘d be pissed.

She grabbed his arm and hauled him into his office, almost shutting the door in Mutt‘s face. Mutt gave an admonitory yip and looked at Kate with reproachful eyes. Your eyes sparkle, your cheeks are flushed, words tremble upon your lips. Ace detective that I am, I deduce that you have news. Jim hung up his jacket and ball cap and removed his gun and holster and put them away in the bottom drawer. Let me make some coffee. All they drink in Tebay Lakes is Folgers. He shuddered. Jim Chopin was a world-class coffee snob, a soul mate to Howard Schultz whether the Starbucks boss knew it or not.

I think I know what happened, she said. She wasn‘t quite dancing in place, but close.

You know who killed Lyda Blue? he said, pausing in the act of filling the carafe. She deflated a little. No, dammit, she said. At least not yet. But I think I‘ve got it figured out about Gammons and Allen.

Gammons wake up?

No, dammit, and would you just let me talk it out first?

Sure, he said, fine, believe me, I‘ve had enough drama for one day. She allowed herself to be diverted, she told herself, only for a second. Why, what was going on in Tebay Lakes?

Bob Ellis called in on the short band, all excited, and said there‘d been a shooting and that someone was dead and there was a crazy guy with a gun shooting up the place. I get there and it‘s Boyd Beebe shooting at his house because Ellen locked him out again.

Bob and Boyd getting into the home brew again?

His expression hardened. Yeah, they were both shit-faced. I told Ellen she has to stop making that stuff.

Her root beer is pretty good, Kate said. Jim looked up from ladling a generous quantity of Tsunami Blend into the filter. She shrugged. Their daughter ran off a couple of years back. I found her for them. Ellen always drops off a case of root beer for me when they come through town. I haven‘t shared any with you yet? You have not. Jim switched on the coffeemaker and stood there willing it to brew faster. Ellen was a little well to live herself when I got there. Tell me something. How many people you think move to the Bush so they can drink themselves to death?

What did you do?

Confiscated the rifle.

What if a bear shows up?

We can only hope it eats them. The coffeemaker beeped. At last, at last, thank god almighty. He filled two mugs, handed her one, and went to sit behind his desk. He cradled the mug in both hands and let the aroma waft upward, through his nostrils, past his sinuses, to infuse his cerebral cortex and stimulate his synapses. So—