“Invited them both to a summer cookout. Let them take it from there. Come on, I’m a guy. That’s as involved as a guy gets.”

“They leave the party together?” Bobby asked.

Lyons had to think about it. “Nah. They met later for drinks, something like that. I don’t know. But next thing I knew, Tessa and her daughter were moving in with him, so I guess it worked.”

“You attend the wedding?”

“No. Didn’t even hear about it until it was all over. I think I noticed Tessa was suddenly wearing a ring. When I asked, she said they’d gotten married. I was a little startled, thought it was kind of quick, and okay, maybe I was surprised they didn’t invite me, but …” Lyons shrugged. “It’s not like we were that close or I was that involved.”

It seemed important for him to establish the point. He wasn’t that close to the couple, not that involved in their lives.

“Tessa ever talk about the marriage?” D.D. asked.

“Not to me.”

“So to others?”

“I can only speak for myself.”

“And you’re not even doing that,” D.D. stated bluntly.

“Hey. I’m trying to tell you the truth. I don’t spend my Sundays dining at Brian and Tessa’s house or having them over to my place after church. We’re friends, sure. But, we got our own lives. Hell, Brian wasn’t even in town half the year.”

“So,” D.D. said slowly. “Your hockey buddy Brian Darby ships out half the year, leaving behind a fellow trooper to juggle the house, the yard, and a small child, all by herself, and you just go your own way. Have your own life, don’t need to get bogged down with theirs?”

Trooper Lyons flushed. He looked at his Coke, his square jaw noticeably clenched.

Good-looking guy, D.D. thought, in a ruddy face sort of way. Which made her wonder: Did Brian Darby start bulking up because his wife carried a gun? Or because his wife started calling a hunky fellow trooper for help around the house?

“I might have fixed the lawn mower,” Lyons muttered.

D.D. and Bobby waited.

“Kitchen faucet leaked. Took a look at that, but out of my league, so I gave her the name of a good plumber.”

“Where were you last night?” Bobby asked quietly.

“Patrolling!” Lyons looked up sharply. “For chrissake, I haven’t been home since eleven last night. I got three kids of my own, you know, and if you don’t think I’m not picturing them every time Sophie’s photo flashes across the news … Shit. Sophie’s just a kid! I still remember her rolling down the hill in my backyard. Then last year, climbing the old oak. Not even my eight-year-old son could catch up with her. She’s half monkey, that one. And that smile, and ah … Dammit.”