Charlie went to each window and inspected the locks. “You have anything of value here? Money in a safe?”

“No, not really. I mean, we have a normal amount of money on hand, but a courier from the bank comes by and picks it up each night before we close. It’s nothing to break in for. Besides, this is Walton.”

Ms. Byrdie pressed her lips together a second as though that kind of reasoning was no longer applicable. “What about the donations?”

Charlie’s gaze swung in Lane’s direction. “The donations for your father’s barbecue fund-raiser?”

“Yes.” Lane looked at the empty spot near the back of her café where the donations once took up space. “Those got picked up. But how would anyone even know they’re worth stealing?”

“Honey, this isn’t your father’s first fund-raiser,” Ms. Byrdie said. “And Meagan’s solicited some rather impressive donations. I’d wager there’s more money sitting in those boxes than the Savings & Loan has in its vault on most days.”

Lane couldn’t argue with that. “Do you really think someone would break in and try to steal the donations?”

“Maybe, if there was something someone wanted badly enough.” Charlie scratched the back of his neck. “Do you remember any of the items?”

“Not everything.” Lane rubbed her forehead. “There’s artwork, football tickets. I think there might’ve been a vacation voucher. But none of it matters since it’s not even here.”

“But who else would know that?”

Lane didn’t have an answer. Charlie’s tone and the way his jaw muscle flexed . . . his whole demeanor shifted from friendly neighbor helping out to suspicious police officer asking questions that unsettled her.

Charlie ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “I’d like you to come by the station later and give me a description of the man you saw.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Ms. Byrdie said. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid? I mean, he could’ve been someone just looking to see if we were open.” But even as the words left her lips, Lane knew it wasn’t as innocent as that. Sydney’s killer was still out there. “Well, this day is just starting out fabulous, isn’t it?”

The front door to the Way Station Café jingled open.

“Good morning!” The chipper voice belonged to Mrs. Kingsley, one of the ladies who, what felt like a lifetime ago, had tried to arrange a date for Lane with her grandson. Her eyes fixed suddenly on Charlie’s still-bare chest and the most ridiculous smile plastered her face.

“Oh, Gladys, I’m sorry.” Ms. Byrdie hurried behind the counter and flipped on the coffee machine. “We had a little alarm mishap this morning, but I’ll have your coffee ready in a second. Muffins won’t take but a few seconds to warm up.”