“Isn’t that a tropical plant of some sort? Isn’t heat its natural environment?”

She made a show of rolling her eyes. Which was at least better than the blankness from a moment ago.

“What?” he asked.

“I was trying to not call attention to the fact that I manufactured an excuse to get you to come inside with me, but you’re either too upstanding or too stupid to run with it.”

Oh. He didn’t know if she was complimenting him—he could handle being called upstanding—or razzing him. She did tend to make him feel stupid. Either way, he was here, and this was his chance to apologize.

“Evie.” She shot him a withering look. He kept forgetting. “Eve. I wanted to tell you how sorry—”

“Anyway,” she practically shouted as she cut him off. “Flounder is a cat palm. He’s tender. He doesn’t like change.”

Dammit. He really, really wanted to apologize, but not if it meant talking over her. He sighed and went over to examine the plant, trying to think how to regroup. “Cat palm? Did you make that up, or is it a real variety of palm?”

“Real variety of palm.”

“And you named yours Flounder.” Flounder was a fish who was Ariel’s best friend in the movie The Little Mermaid.

“I tried to get an actual cat, but it turned out I was super allergic. I had to give it back. So I got this instead.”

That was so her. Despite his unease, he smiled.

At a tree. Named Flounder. A cat tree named after a fictional fish.

He had lost control of himself. This was not how the chief of police acted. “So, a year? You’re staying a year?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to confirm the rumor or deny it.

“Lucille had a clause in her will saying I couldn’t sell this place for a year.”

So she wasn’t staying because she wanted to. She was staying under duress.

Of course she was. Why else would she stay?

But it seemed like a surprise move by Lucille. He had talked a fair bit with her toward the end of her life. He would stop in to check on her, like he did with most of the single old folks in town. She’d never said anything about leaving the inn to Evie, much less this one-year thing. But that must have been what Pearl meant when she referred to Lucille as having “done it.” The question was…“Why?”

“I have no idea. I was talking to Maya about how, if this was a movie, there would be a letter along with the will. You know, ‘If you’re reading this, I’m gone. Now let me outline all the ways I’m going to eff up your life.’”