Gabriel casts off in his rolling chair, and I pull up, flex my fingers over the keys. He’s queued up all the search results for “Caroline Quinn,” but I have something else in mind. I ignore Gabriel’s confused frown as I type “Grace Bedecki” into the search bar.

The archives pull up a wedding announcement from 1975, and a few other random articles. I click on one attached to a photo credit. It’s from 1969, a fluff piece about therapy dogs at the local hospital. And there’s a young Grace in a smocked candy-striper uniform like from an old movie, hand in the puppy’s scruff, grinning for the camera. She’s not alone—Maura and Elaine are behind her, caught midlaugh.

“Do I want to know why you’re looking up the school admin?”

“Any stories on her, or her husband, Clark?” I barrel past Gabriel’s unease.

“He passed away a few years ago. Why?”

“She doesn’t think her brother did it.”

“So that’s why you’re searching for her in the newspaper archive.” Gabe frowns. “Right.”

“Well, fair’s fair.” I walk my chair closer to his. “You tell me your alibi—your real one—and I’ll tell you what I’m looking into.”

Gabriel scoots his chair away. “That’s not a fair exchange. I’m sorry, Cecelia. I can’t tell you.”

“Did you tell the sheriff?”

His expression is stony. Guess that’s a no.

“Then thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

I’m back out in the lobby before I can name the sensation taking residence in my chest: disappointment. Gabriel didn’t try to stop me.

Fine. He can have his secrets. But if they include murder…I’ll find out eventually.

Before I go, there is the matter of Diana, and her name on Natalie’s therapy list. Instinct pushes me up the stairs and down the hall to the antechamber where Diana’s desk sits. But she’s not behind it. A noise catches my attention. It’s coming from the mayor’s office.

The door is swollen with age. Doesn’t quite fit. If you were to sidle close enough, press your ear against it, you could hear the conversation inside.

But the mayor and Diana are having an argument pitched loud enough I don’t even have to push my ear to the door. Their voices carry.

“You have one job, Diana!” the mayor explodes.

Diana’s reply comes with gritted teeth. “I can’t lie to the police.”

“This has no bearing on my daughter’s murder. Zero.”

“Then why did they ask me about it?”

There’s challenge in her words. Diana’s no pushover.

“And so you told them?” The mayor sounds scared.

Diana doesn’t respond right away.

“Not everything. I acknowledged you might be having an affair. But I didn’t tell them my suspicions about who. I keep hoping I’m wrong. Am I wrong, Bradley?”