“In the wrong hands, love can be just as deadly as a loaded gun, Charlie. All you gotta do is take off the blinders.”

I gesture to the eastern side of the house, step back to close the door. “Opossum’s around back, at the top of the stairs.”

Sam stops the door with a toe. “Is Chet here? I need a word.”

“What for?”

“For a word.” His gaze flicks beyond me, to deeper into the house. “I also have a couple of follow-up questions for you and Mr. Keller.”

I stand there for a long moment, trying to decide what to do. I could call Chet to the door, have Sam fire off whatever questions he has from right where he’s standing, on my doorstep in the freezing cold. But I also heard the bit about the follow-up questions and it occurs to me that Chet banging around the kitchen might be a good kind of distraction, and same goes for Micah. With those two in the room, Sam will at least keep things civil.

“Take off your shoes.” I turn away, leaving Sam to deal with his own coat. I don’t want to see his face when he clocks the house’s most impressive features—the steel-and-wood staircase that hangs like magic from the wall, the glass-front refrigerator and stainless-steel appliances, the twin couches on a massive wool rug thick as a cloud. Don’t want to know if his expression looks anything like mine did when I first saw the place, an equal mix of envy and awe.

In the kitchen, I busy myself with the gathering of plates and silverware, digging napkins out of the drawer while Sam doles out greetings to the other men. Chet points him to a counter stool with a greasy spatula. “Hungry man’s breakfast, coming up.”

“I just ate,” Sam says, but everybody knows Sam has the kind of metabolism that gets him banned from the all-you-can-eat buffet. Doesn’t matter how long ago he ate; he can always eat again. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Chet’s back is turned, flipping a row of bacon on the frying pan, and it takes him a couple of seconds before he realizes Sam’s talking to him. “Who, me? Sure, man. Shoot.”

Sam shifts his feet, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “We can do this in the other room if you prefer.”

Chet points to the stove. “I’ve kind of got my hands full. Ask away.”

I set everything on the counter with a hard clatter, glaring at Sam as he flips through a notepad to a page filled with his tiny scribbles. He sinks onto the counter stool next to Micah. “Want to tell me what you were doing at the Crosby Shores B and B Monday night?”