I pressed my lips together. “Well, I didn’t like him very much … he seemed like he wanted to shoot me.”

“Was that because you acted less than hospitable to him?”

“Maybe,” I laughed. I had been pretty hostile to him. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure that embosser is the murder weapon and I found something on it that might be a clue.”

“What?’

“One of the screws that attached the seal to the handle was sticking out. There was a thread of navy blue fabric stuck on it. Like a thread that would have ripped off a coat … or a cape.”

“And you think that could have come from the murderer.” Pepper said it as more of a statement than a question.

I nodded.

“So, now we need to find out who has a navy blue coat.”

“Yes, I’d especially like to know if Ophelia has one. And there’s something else…”

A movement at the shop door caught my eye and I glanced over to see something large blocking most of the light. I noticed a brown shirt and the ham salad spoiled in my stomach. “Please tell me that isn’t—”

The door opened and in stepped Eddie Striker.

***

Striker paused just inside the doorway, his light gray eyes scanning the shop before he noticed us on the couch. Did I see his lips twitch upwards in a smile? I stared at the stone-faced look he was wearing and decided that must have been my imagination. Probably he just had indigestion or some kind of a strange twitch.

“Sheriff Striker, what a pleasant surprise,” I said sarcastically. “What can I do for you?”

“Ms. Chance,” he said, then frowned at Pepper.

“Hi, Eddie,” Pepper cut in. “It’s Pepper St. Onge … from second grade.”

“I thought you looked familiar.” Striker shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How are you?”

“Oh, great. Hey, would you like a sandwich?” Pepper gestured toward the tea tray and I almost laughed out loud picturing the tiny sandwich and teacup in Striker’s large hands.

He frowned down at the tray and I figured he was probably thinking the same thing I was. I couldn’t help but notice how his frown made the dimple on his cheek more prominent.

His face was slightly tanned, making his eyes look even lighter. His short-cropped dark hair had just a peppering of gray. I touched my own hair self-consciously, wondering why a little bit of gray always makes guys look more handsome, but just makes women look old. Not that I was noticing, but Sheriff Striker did look a lot more appealing now that he wasn’t pointing a gun at me.