I think of incorrigible and smug Tyra and how she cut me off. I wonder now if she saw me as the “other side” or if she had something to hide herself.

I sift through the court docket and telephone messages before I write up my interview reports—one for Tyra and one for Chantelle. Sheriff will read them later tonight, and I’ll hit him up with additional details tomorrow morning.

It’s almost six.

I look like I’ve slept in my clothes.

Which I sort of did.

Out the back door and home in sixteen minutes, I turn on the noisy old shower, so it will heat up. I tear off my clothes and let the barely hot water spray over me. Old Victorians are charming only on the outside. Unless one has an endless bank account to remodel. That includes plumbing that doesn’t clang. My mind touches on the last few days and how my old life has melded with the new. The tapes. The case. I can’t stop drawing out the similarities between the Wheaton kids and my own situation at that age.

I twist the knob and towel off as quickly as I can.

That my wardrobe isn’t extensive is the understatement of the century—this or the last one. My closet and drawers look like a waiter’s supply outlet. Black and blue cotton slacks, white shirts. Blazers that complete my daily work attire hang like a rogue’s gallery of what not to wear.

I consider a dress but decide against it. Mindy will be there, and she’ll give me grief later.

I can hear her now.

Gee, I forgot you had legs, Megan.

I put on my most flattering jeans, a white top that at least gives me a tiny bit of sex appeal. Lipstick, and eye makeup and I’m out the door.

Originally called Hops Ahoy, the bar was supposed to be for the tourist trade. It was all done up with nets, ship’s wheels and enormous black and white blowups of our Victorian seaport. It turned out that the tourists who came here were looking for an authentic experience, one that didn’t try too hard to be a destination but was a worthy one on its own.

My heart sinks a little when I spy only Mindy sitting at a table in the bar. She brightens the minute she sees me, and I do the same. I know I’m mimicking her reaction right now. But it isn’t as though I’m not thrilled to see her.

It’s that Dan isn’t there.

“Am I your chaperone or your excuse to leave?” Mindy asks as she indicates for the waiter to come.

“Neither.”

I want a Scotch on the rocks, but I order a chardonnay.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I haven’t been interested in a guy for a long time. Dan intrigues me.”