I should have ordered one too. I drink wine at home only because it goes good with fish sticks or whatever I move from the freezer to the oven when I sit at my table.

Listening to my life unspool on the tapes.

We stay clear of the Wheaton and Burbank investigations and focus our conversation on other things.

Pleasant things. His farm. His woodcarving. Dan looks at me, expecting me to dive into my life. Mindy catches the look and throws me a lifeline and talks up her family and her so far less than successful quest to develop a hydrangea hybrid that will thrive in sunny spaces.

She doesn’t know my story. Not like Sheriff.

And certainly not what I disclosed to Dr. Albright.

“What about you, Detective?” Dan asks.

I shift in my chair. “Megan, please.”

“Okay. What’s your story?”

That question invites me to lie and I don’t want to lie anymore. And yet I do.

“Parents died in a car crash when I was a kid. No other family to take us in.”

He looks at me with eyes full of kindness.

“I’m sorry.”

I acknowledge his concern with a slight nod. I hate that I’ve lived a life of covering my tracks.

“Us?” he asks. “Do you have siblings?”

“A brother. He’s stationed overseas.”

And he hates me. Wants nothing to do with me. It’s my fault. All of it!

Awkwardness hangs over me, tightening my throat. Almost choking me. I don’t want to say any more. I glance over at Mindy.

She knows me. At least enough to be a lifeline.

“Yeah,” she says, touching my hand. “Megan has been through a lot, but she’s the best person I know.”

I feel like she’s selling me, but it puts a period on the conversation.

“Didn’t mean to pry,” Dan says.

“It’s fine.”

We move the subject to the next day and what each of us is doing. Mindy’s doing flowers for a funeral. Dan’s installing a front gate.

And me? I’ve got a killer to catch.

We pay our tabs and walk out to our respective cars. Gulls perched behind the bar disperse overhead as the moon sends a path of light over the black water of the bay. It’s a golden trail from Port Townsend to somewhere far away. Mindy heads to her van on the other side of the lot.

“I always park next to the road,” she told me one time, “because my van is a billboard.”

“Hey,” Dan says, lingering by my car, “I’m going to an art show on Saturday. You know, check out the competition. If you’re free, want to come, Megan?”

My Saturday is already planned as a day to catch up on bills and other things that have been set on the backburner since the start of the Wheaton investigation.