I was glad he did, because I wasn’t sure I’d made any sense. “Do you know what Drew was talking about? Did something happen between Ariella and Emily?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, sighing. “And it’s my fault. Processing the event permits is one of my responsibilities, and I was out sick for a couple of days. Drew assigned the permitting to Ariella while I was out, and Emily came in for a permit to hold a bike club picnic in the waterfront park.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Rafe commented.

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Isaac rolled his eyes heavenward. “But with Ariella, the simplest transaction could turn into a battle, and afterward you could never really find out why. The only thing you could count on is it wouldn’t be Ariella’s fault.”

“So what you’re saying,” Rafe said, “is you don’t miss Ariella?”

Isaac laughed. “Like I miss an ice pick in my eyeball.” Still laughing, he waved and headed off.

And I was left with . . . nothing.

What I’d temporarily suspected, that Drew had insinuated bad blood between Ariella as a red herring, wasn’t true. And my theory that retirement connected Brown’s and Emily’s deaths was simply a theory. I had nothing to prove it. Absolutely nothing.

*   *   *

Kristen and I sat across from each other at a small table that Harvey, sous-chef extraordinaire, had set up in her office. He’d just laid the table with place settings of utensils and a dessert, or what I assumed was a dessert because it was Sunday evening. At this point, however, the exact type of dessert we were about to eat was a secret, at least to me, because it was hidden by a shiny metal cover.

“Are you ready for the best dessert you’ve ever had in your life?” Kristen asked.

I wasn’t sure how anything could be better than the crème brûlée we normally had, but I supposed it was good to try something new at least once a year. “Of course I’m ready.”

She nodded at Harvey. “Will you do the honors?”

“At your command,” he said, and with a flourish, he lifted the covers.

I gasped. In front of me was a towering pile of red cake layers, each so thin I wouldn’t have believed their creation possible. Between each layer of cake was an even thinner layer of white frosting. On top were delicate rolls of shaved dark chocolate, and melted chocolate had artistically been drizzled over the entire thing and onto the edges of the plates.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said, and applauded.

“Thank you, thank you.” Kristen smiled smugly. “It was Harvey’s idea, and he can go now.” She flicked her fingers at him and he bowed as he departed. “Dig in.”

“Can’t do it,” I said, shaking my head. “Too pretty.”