Most of the buildings on Main Street were flush against each other, but there was a narrow passageway between Lawson’s and Pie with Pearl that functioned as a shortcut from Main Street to the parking lots behind the businesses. It also functioned as a spot for covert activities of all sorts, as evidenced by the condoms and cigarette butts that littered the gravel beneath his feet—more indications that last night had been an especially rowdy one.

“Nope,” Karl said. “It’ll clear up. It’s gonna be one of those picture-postcard days that remind you how lucky you are to be living in the greatest town in Canada.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes, but only because Karl, who was leading the way through the narrow passage, couldn’t see him. He reminded himself that Karl, though prone to hyperbole, especially in his self-appointed role as chief town meddler, wasn’t wrong. Sawyer had gone through his phases of hating Moonflower Bay. Well, okay, one big phase. But his sense of feeling trapped by it had faded over the years. Anyway, it had never been the town doing the trapping. He had dear old Dad to thank for that.

Some days, when his job ground him down, Sawyer got cranky. But this little town on the shores of Lake Huron was home. Its residents, even the sometimes-maddening ones like Karl Andersen, were his responsibility. The town itself was his responsibility—he made a mental note to come back and clean up the passageway after he’d caught some shut-eye.

They emerged into the parking lot behind the bar. It was owned by his buddy Ben Lawson, and Sawyer idly wondered if he could go inside after this call and stick his mouth under one of the taps. Yes, it was eight in the morning, but he’d been on all night, so technically it was happy hour for him.

“She’s up there.” Karl pointed.

“On Lucille’s building?” Sawyer frowned. He’d had some concerns about the building standing empty in the week since Lucille’s death. Lucille had been a collector of antiques. She had a lot of junk, too, but there was some valuable stuff mixed in among the mermaid knickknacks. The place didn’t have an alarm, and though he’d just been thinking what a great town this was, it had its share of the usual small-town problems, addiction and unemployment chief among them. That, combined with the tourists they attracted in the summer, had him keeping a closer eye on the inn. “I don’t see anyone. How long ago did you spot the person?”

There was no answer. He looked around. Karl was gone. He looked back up at the roof, which still showed no signs of being populated. Dammit. Did he need to start worrying about Karl’s mental state? The man seemed invincible, but he was eighty-seven and a widower who lived alone.