“Whoa now, I’ll just take more of your girlfriend’s cinnamon rolls. No offense, but the muffins were a little bland.”

Charlie laughed and thanked Frost, not bothering to correct him about Lane. After all, it’s what he wanted. Cutting the engine, Charlie and Sheriff Huggins climbed out of the car. Trust. That’s what the sheriff had told him about their investigation and now they had a new lead.

Sheriff Huggins adjusted the brim of his hat as they approached the gallery. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir.” Charlie pulled open the glass door of the gallery. He recognized the girl with the hot pink hair standing on point in every direction and approached her. She was one of the art students he spoke to the last time he and Frost were there. “Is Ms. Benedict in?”

“Is she expecting you?” There was a fluster of pink tinting the student’s cheeks that matched her hair.

“I doubt it,” Charlie said.

“Let her know we’re here to talk to her about the death of one of her artists.”

If their uniforms weren’t drawing enough unwanted attention, Sheriff Huggins’s words hit their mark. Pink-hair girl’s eyes bulged, making her look like a comic book character.

“I—uh. Let me call.” Her fingers fumbled with the phone on the desk.

A few minutes passed before the cadence of heels clipping on the wood floor filled the gallery. Annika crossed toward them. Expression tight. Lips pursed. Annoyance undisguised. Charlie liked that, for whatever reason, their presence irked her.

“I’ve come out here as a courtesy, but unless you have an appointment I’m afraid your visit won’t be long.”

Sheriff Huggins removed his hat. “I apologize for our unannounced visit, but we have a few more questions we’d like to ask.”

“I’ve already answered everything your deputies asked.”

“We have a few more questions,” Charlie added. His blood pressure hadn’t leveled since their visit with Floyd. “Now, would you like to do this out here or in the privacy of your office?”

“I already told you that unless you have an appointment—”

“Why don’t you tell us why you lied about seeing our murder victim the day before she was killed?” Charlie let his voice rise on the last part of his question just enough so that it had the effect he wanted. Several heads turned in their direction.

“I didn’t lie,” Annika hissed, her eyes searching the faces around them. “You have five minutes.” She spun on her heel and started for the hallway that Charlie guessed led to her office.

Annika’s office was larger than he’d imagined. An acrylic desk with two pedestals in the same red as her lips was positioned in the center of the room. A velvet couch was pushed against the wall where the building’s original brick was left exposed. Charlie stared at the life-size painting of a man on a horse.