Nate opened the menu and hid behind it. “I forgot how many choices there are.”

“True in life, true in the Spotted Hen Café. If you want my recommendation, I’d go with today’s special—the sunrise skillet. It’s got eggs, sausage, cheddar cheese, potatoes, mushrooms, green peppers—”

“Sold.” He closed his menu and passed it to her.

“I’ll get these orders in the queue and let you two get back to whatever you were discussing.”

Not if he could help it.

Instead, Nate put the spotlight on Becky, asking the kinds of questions that always kept their Saturday night dinners moving at a jaunty pace.

She followed his lead, as usual.

And by the time they left the diner, everything seemed back to normal.

Except his equilibrium.

That, unfortunately, was out of whack. Thanks to a forensic pathologist who was playing havoc with his assumption that his future would be business—and relationships—as usual.

“What on earth happened to your car?”

Grace closed the door and locked the Civic as Cate tossed the question over the roof and moved closer to inspect the damage.

So much for her plan to arrive late and defer the inquisition from her oldest sister as long as possible.

“Petty vandalism.”

Cate squinted at the damage. “This isn’t petty. I hope you have a small deductible.”

“Not small enough.” She circled the car toward the sidewalk. “How come you’re late?”

“I was stuck at a homicide.” She straightened up and flipped her long auburn ponytail over her shoulder.

“Not as stuck as the victim.”

“Very funny.” She swept a hand over the Civic. “When did this happen?”

“Friday night.”

“Where?”

“A funeral home. I was reviewing paperwork for an autopsy I did yesterday.”

Cate stared at her. “Please tell me you didn’t spend your Friday night at a funeral home.”

“I’m dead serious. Pardon the pun.”

Her sister held up a hand. “Don’t start with the dead jokes. And no details about any gruesome cases, either.” She suppressed a shudder.

“You know, I can understand why Eve’s freaked out by dead people. A radio talk show host doesn’t encounter bodies every day. But you’re a police detective. Dead bodies are your business.”

“Correction. Solving crimes is my business. I don’t touch dead bodies—or cut them open.” She waved toward the car. “I assume the local police are investigating this.”

“They are, but I doubt they’ll find the culprit. There weren’t any witnesses to the crime. Not live ones, anyway.”

Cate fisted her hands on her hips and pinned Grace with the intimidating big-sister look that had scared away more than one suitor during Grace’s high school years. Even back then, Cate had been a master at the third degree.

“You’re carrying, right?”

Grace patted her purse. “Always. I’m not the sister you have to worry about. Eve’s the one who should get with the program, especially after what happened last year.”

“I agree—although I don’t fret about her as much as I used to now that she’s married to one of my colleagues.”