I blinked. That wasn’t quite the response I had been expecting. I took a peek in the basket to make sure all of the treats hadn’t somehow been swapped out with dog snacks. Much to my relief the other container was still filled with baked goods. “Black currant walnut squares?”

“Well then, in that case, I accept your condolences. Why don’t we have ourselves a little sit-down on the porch and take a moment to remember dear old Connie.”

Chapter 12

I was accompanied by a German shepherd on either side of me as we walked up to the stone farmhouse. They still seemed uncertain about whether or not I could be trusted.

“Have yourself a seat,” Rip Jr. said, gesturing to one of the chairs on the porch.

I sat as delicately as I could on the deep Adirondack chair and opened the wooden hamper. Rip leaned over to get a look inside as the still-drooling dogs settled down in front of me. “Sorry, guys. You’ll have to ask the boss if you want more treats.”

Rip smiled. I think he liked being called boss. He looked at the dogs and said, “You’ve had enough.”

They shot me disappointed looks, then rested their heads on their paws in an identical motion.

I offered the container of squares to Rip, and before I could blink, he had one in his mouth. “We should have something to drink with these.” He turned toward the screened window behind us. “Maureen! Get some lemonade. We have a guest!”

“Get it yourself,” a voice shouted back.

Rip smiled. “She never was known for her hospitality.” He then bit into another square. “I don’t indulge often,” he said, giving his nose another rub, “but today I think I’ll make an exception.”

“It’s a beautiful spot you have here, Mr. Graves.”

“Rip,” he corrected. “My father was Mr. Graves, and nobody would want to be mistaken for that old son of a—”

“Rip, then,” I said with a smile. “And speaking of beauty, those yellow roses at the gate are particularly lovely.”

He frowned. “Family tradition. My mother loved them.”

Hmm. I couldn’t help but wonder if all the siblings grew them.

I studied Rip’s face as he looked over the hills without much pleasure. “It is a nice property though. Eighteen acres. Worth nearly five million.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I hadn’t asked the value, but apparently it was important to Rip I know it.

“So, Constance,” he said, tearing his gaze from the hills. “I heard you three found her. I always thought she’d die alone.”

And I really wasn’t sure how to answer that. The squares, it seemed, were already having an effect.

“It’s better than she deserved.”

“Rip!” a sharp shout came from inside.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he said, not at all looking like he meant it. I couldn’t help but notice him rubbing his nose again. His allergies must be quite bad. “It’s wrong to speak ill of the dead.”