“I’m coming solo. I already told you that.”

“Hope burns eternal, as they say. I don’t have to turn in the head count to the caterer for two weeks, if you want to make any changes.”

An image of Nate flashed across her mind.

She erased it.

It wouldn’t be fair to ask a man she barely knew to the wedding and subject him to the third degree from her sisters, their husbands, her father, and any other relatives who managed to corner him.

Even if she was certain he could hold his own.

“Does your silence mean you have someone in mind?” Cate sounded hopeful.

“No. But if the situation changes, I’ll let you know.” She stopped her idle tapping and frowned. Leaned closer to the screen.

Her heart hiccupped as the name from one of the first autopsies she’d performed after being hired for this rural forensic pathology job registered.

There had to be a connection.

Why hadn’t she remembered this? Yes, it had happened three years ago, and no, there’d been nothing special to take note of, but recent events should have triggered a—

“Hey. Are you still with me?”

With an effort she refocused on the conversation. “Yes. Sorry. I was working when you called, and I got distracted by a piece of information I spotted on my laptop.”

“Why are you working instead of eating dinner?”

“I’m shutting down now.” Or soon. After she refreshed her memory on the details of this report.

“In that case, I’ll let you go. I don’t want to delay your meal. If you decide to bring someone to the wedding, give me a call.”

“Uh-huh.” She clicked on the entry.

“You’re as bad as I am while I’m tracking down a lead. Don’t work too hard.”

“Says the pot to the kettle.” Grace began to scan the report.

“Cute. And with that, I’ll bid you good night.”

As Cate severed the connection, Grace speed-read the document.

After she finished, she sat back again.

Maybe the meager results from her hours of searching didn’t require a lengthy discussion with the sheriff, but this report merited a conversation.

An in-person conversation.

First thing tomorrow.

11

IT HAD BEEN AS BAD AS HE’D EXPECTED.

No. Worse.

Nate set his napkin on the table at the Spotted Hen and signaled Jolene for the check, surveying Becky’s barely touched plate.

Neither of them had eaten more than a few bites, and the soothing ambiance of the familiar setting hadn’t been as comforting for his companion as she’d hoped, based on the sheen in her eyes.

Jolene hustled over, inspected the two of them, and frowned. “Did the cook mess up?”

“No. We aren’t very hungry tonight. Could I have the check?”

“Sure thing, honey.” She gave Becky a worried glance. “You want takeout boxes?”

Becky dipped her chin and rummaged through her purse. “Not for me.”

“Me neither.” Nate extracted his wallet and handed Jolene his credit card. “I’ll tell you what. Don’t worry about the check. Just ring us up and add my usual tip.”