Libba shrugged, then winced as if the slightest movement made her headache worse. “We’re staying through tomorrow anyway.”

“That was before Graham got murdered.” Buffy made a fair point.

“We were his friends. We should do what we can to ensure the killer is caught.” Lord, that sounded sanctimonious. I offered up an apologetic half-smile.

“Are they sure it wasn’t suicide?” Did Buffy know something, did Graham have a reason to kill himself? What were Graham’s secrets?

“It wasn’t suicide.”

“How do you know?” she insisted.

“I saw the body.” Found the body.

Anarchy broke away from the cluster of police and approached our table. “Ellison, a word?”

“Of course.” I stood and followed him outside.

The sun was up. The sky was blue. The birds were singing. And I wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “The sheriff’s department isn’t equipped to investigate a murder.”

“What does that mean?”

“KCPD loaned me to their department.”

A lead weight settled in my stomach. “You’re investigating?

He gave a brief nod.

“Our friends. You’re investigating our friends.”

“One of them is a killer.”

“The rest are not.” I knew how this went. Secrets spilled in murder investigations. Ugly, life-changing secrets. And those secrets didn’t necessarily belong to the killer.

“Graham deserves justice.”

“No argument. But can’t someone else find the murderer?” Perhaps it was selfish, but I didn’t want my husband investigating our friends. They might—and that was an enormous might—forgive him for doing his job, but they wouldn’t forget that he was the one who discovered an affair, a hidden bank account, or a predilection worth killing for.

“I’m here. I know the suspects. Both my police chief and the county sheriff think I’m the man for the job.”

“You know the suspects?” My voice was too high. I took a deep breath and tried again. “You more than know the suspects. They’re our friends.”

“They’re your friends.” His words were as sharp as a slap on the cheek. “And one of them killed Landingham.”

“Maybe someone snuck onto the property.” It was unlikely, but I’d clutch at any straw.

“Ellison.”

“It could happen.”

“We’ll investigate that, too. But it’s more likely someone already here killed him.”

“The staff?”

“The staff he met for the first time yesterday?”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he knew one of them before. Misty catered for his law firm. He could have met her servers at an event.”

“We’ll look into that.”

I stared at my boots. The toes were scuffed, and dust had settled into the stitching.

“Ellison.”