“We’d like to take over Bailey’s for a while, too, dear,” Alice informed her daughter. “Give you some time off to enjoy yourself. Get back to your painting.”

It wasn’t as if running the restaurant was Brynne’s life calling, but she enjoyed choosing new dishes for the menu, greeting customers, and making them comfortable and welcome. She worked hard to maintain a festive atmosphere in the place, not just at Christmas, but all year around.

Bailey’s was a refuge of sorts, a place to meet with friends and family, and it was particularly appealing in winter, when Brynne made sure every customer was greeted by warmth and light, a way of literally coming in from the cold.

“Hello?” Alice prompted, though not unkindly. Alice Bailey was never unkind; the idea of making that small-town eatery a kind of community center had been hers, after all. She’d been the one to keep plenty of oldies available on the jukebox, to hang bright curtains at the windows and keep a never-ending stream of coffee pouring for anyone who wanted to linger.

“Sorry,” Brynne said. “I guess I’m not tracking all that well. We’ve had a lot going on around here.”

“We heard about that poor murdered girl,” Mike said. “And Freddie Lansing. Sad. That’s just so sad.”

“How are Fred, Sr., and Gretchen holding up?” Alice asked, with genuine concern.

Another small-town phenomenon. Fred and Gretchen were universally disliked in the Creek, if not the whole of Wild Horse County, and yet practically everyone had sent a card, most enclosing a check, or planned to send flowers when the body was released and a proper funeral could be held.

The small chapel at Sweet Rest would be packed with sympathetic folks, even knowing that the Lansings would be surly, if they greeted them at all.

“Not very well,” Brynne answered, however belatedly. “I took a food basket out there yesterday, but they wouldn’t answer the door. I just left it on the porch.”

“Good,” Alice murmured. “Good that you took them food, I mean.”

“At least they didn’t set those darned dogs on you,” Mike remarked.

Brynne wanted to sigh, but she didn’t because it might have been misinterpreted. “Animal control took the dogs a few days ago,” she said. “They weren’t being fed properly, and there were other signs of abuse.”

“Poor animals—that’s awful. When is the funeral service?” Alice wanted to know.

“Sometime this week, hopefully. Technically, Freddie’s death is still under investigation.”

“I guess you probably know more about that than the rest of us,” Mike said mildly.

Did he think Eli told her the details of the crimes he investigated?

He didn’t.