“That could be it, but no. It’s, um . . .” I shifted from one foot to the other, wishing that I’d planned this conversation better. “Do you have a few minutes? This could take a while.”

“Sure, come on back. I was quitting for the night, anyway.”

Keith leaned the rake against the garage and led me around to the backyard. I must have made some sort of noise, because he grinned. “Nice, isn’t it? This was my summer project and now that it’s done, it’s almost winter and we won’t get to use it for seven months.”

“Life in northern Michigan,” I said, looking around. “This is . . . wonderful.”

And it was. A solid wood fence surrounded the entire yard. Flat limestone paths flowed into grassy areas, which flowed into flowerbeds, with low lights softly illuminating the spaces. Closer to the house was an outside kitchen with a fieldstone base next to a patio, partially covered with a wood pergola. Between the kitchen and the pergola was a brick fire pit, its small fire glowing in warm invitation.

“Just tossed in some sticks I picked up in the yard,” Keith said. “Have a seat. My wife is downstate at a conference, so I’d be happy to have the company.”

He slid two rattan chairs away from a glass table and arranged them on opposite sides of the fire. “Can I get you anything to drink? I know you’re not big on beer, but we have lots of other possibilities.” He gestured at a refrigerator tucked in next to the house, inside some clever cabinetry that undoubtedly housed everything from yard games to table linens.

I made a mental note to ask Rafe what Keith’s wife did for a living, because it was hard to imagine that all this had been purchased on a teacher’s salary. “Some water would be nice,” I said.

“Coming right up.” Keith opened the fridge. “Hope you don’t mind if I partake, though. There’s nothing like cold beer in front of a fire.”

“I see why you and Rafe get along so well,” I said, sitting down and hopping my chair slightly closer to the fire’s warmth.

“Yeah, well, if you can’t get along with Rafe, there’s got to be something wrong with you.”

I got a goofy smile on my face and suddenly realized that getting compliments about my fiancé was better than getting compliments about myself, or even the bookmobile.

Keith handed me a bottle of water, popped his beer, and settled into the chair opposite me. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

And, just like that, I told him everything. From finding Brown in the road, to meeting Tabitha, to learning about Emily and Emmy Sue, to our suspects and our winnowing down to Ariella and Drew, and to our growing conviction that the murders were tied by retirement and the city.