“Hey, Gus, what brings you here dressed like that?” I nodded at Augusta’s outfit, sliding a sideways glance at Striker.

“Oh, just, paying our respects, same as you,” Striker cut in. His suit looked like it was tailor-made. Of course, it would have to be in order to fit his broad shoulders. The dark blue color highlighted his gray eyes, making them look like slate. He looked good … almost as good as the chocolate donut hole Augusta had slipped out of her pocket and popped into her mouth.

“So, did you guys notice anything out of place?” I asked.

Striker was right about one thing. They were here for the same reason I was, but it had more to do with detecting than paying our respects.

Striker smirked at me and my stomach started to feel queasy. “Well, you know they say the killer usually shows up at the funeral.”

“So you think someone who was here did it?” I asked.

“There is one person here who keeps suspiciously popping up in the investigation,” he answered.

“Really? Who?”

“You.”

I tilted my head and fisted my hands on my hips. “Surely you don’t think—”

Striker raised a brow at me and smiled that damned dimpled smile. “You sure do seem to know a lot about it.”

I felt fury race through my veins, took a deep breath and was about to ream him out when Augusta interrupted.

“Willa, he’s joking.” She looked up at Striker and popped a jelly donut hole in her mouth. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Mostly. But she does keep showing up everywhere … almost getting in the way. I warned her we might have to arrest her for her own safety.” He looked down at Augusta. “Isn’t that right?”

Augusta pursed her lips at me. “Yes, that is right. I’ve warned you before, Willa. Investigating on your own can be dangerous.”

I shifted my weight to my right leg to ease the throbbing in my left and looked around at the dispersing crowd. Time to change the subject.

“Did you hurt your leg?” Striker asked, surprising me with the gentle tone of concern in his voice.

“Just remnants of an old accident,” I said vaguely, hoping he got the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it. Something flashed in his eyes—was that sympathy? I certainly didn’t need his sympathy and I felt my stomach turn queasy again. I sure hoped I wasn’t catching some kind of stomach bug.

“Anyway, we have to get back to work.” Augusta opened the driver’s door of the truck and Striker started around the back to the passenger side.

“Before you go, I have a lead I wanted to share.” They both stopped and looked at me.

“What is it?” Augusta asked.