“Don’t freak,” Quinn told him. “Emily and I talked about you. I just imagined . . . well, something different. Never mind.”

Emily felt the prick of embarrassment. She couldn’t remember exactly what she’d told Quinn about Frank, but she was sure it hadn’t been flattering.

“Frank Harlow,” Frank said, flashing his smile. “Emily thought you might need legal advice.” He offered Quinn his hand.

“Legal advice,” Quinn said, eyeing his hand but not shaking it.

“Dealing with the police and all,” Frank said. “Not something most of us have to do every day. I’m sorry to hear about your husband.”

“He’s missing. Not dead.” Quinn shifted her gaze to Emily as she nuzzled the cat. “Right?” The cat squirmed from her arms, twisted in midair, dropped on all four feet with a thud on the threshold, and slinked back into the house.

“You still haven’t heard from him?” Emily said.

Quinn shook her head.

“Emily asked if I’d come along to see if I could help,” Frank said. That wasn’t exactly how it had happened, but Emily let it pass.

Quinn gazed down at Frank’s still-extended hand. She shook it. “I’m sorry. I must seem rude and ungrateful. I’m just so upset by all this. I really appreciate you coming. Both of you. Come in.” She led them into the house and through to the kitchen. She turned back. “Coffee?”

Coffee? It was just the kind of thing women did, offered a refreshment to guests when life had been upended, a pathetic call back to normal. Emily was about to say no thanks when Frank said, “Sure. That would be great.”

Quinn pulled out the refrigerator’s freezer drawer, got out a bag of coffee, and kicked the drawer shut. Hands shaking, she tried to scoop a measure of coffee into the top of the gleaming espresso machine, but a cascade of beans flooded the counter. She slammed the bag on the counter, scattering more beans. Stamped her foot. “Shit shit shit shit.” She clapped her hands on the sides of her head and stood there, rigid.

Emily put her arm around Quinn. “You don’t have to play hostess,” she said. She felt Quinn slowly go limp against her as Frank gathered the beans on the counter and scraped them back into the bag. Unhooked a hand vac from the wall and vacuumed up the beans that had fallen on the floor.

“Sit,” Emily said, pulling out a stool from under the counter. “Tell us what happened.”

Quinn grabbed a tissue from the counter and blew her nose. She perched on the stool, looking wan and spent. Emily noticed a business card on the counter. East Hartwell Police Department. From a lieutenant detective. She picked it up and showed it to Frank. Then she waited for Quinn to collect herself.

“There were two of them,” Quinn said.

“Police officers?” Frank asked.

Quinn nodded.

“Detectives?”