The last time I’d been there, I’d told Ryan to expect me back on Thursday evening so I didn’t frighten or startle him. Even still, as I neared the cabin, the door was flung open and he ran pell-mell out into the woods.

I sighed. Nothing made a person look as guilty as rapid flight. “It’s Minnie!” I yelled. “I come bearing gifts of great joy!”

He slowed, then jogged toward me. “Hey,” he said, not out of breath at all. Ah, youth. “Sorry about that. It’s just now that it’s getting warmer, more people are out here. Way more than I thought there’d be.”

“Mushrooms,” I said, nodding. “This is a good spot for morels. Saw a couple on my way in.”

“Oh, man.” Ryan sagged. “Never thought about that.”

Hunting for morel mushrooms—the easiest of all mushrooms to identify—was a strong northern Michigan tradition, and the locations of prime morel finds were handed down from generation to generation. Lots of restaurateurs, including Kristen, paid a hefty amount per pound for the spring delicacy, and so did vendors at farmers markets.

Ryan glanced around, and I wasn’t sure if he was looking for a new place to hide or if he was checking for mushroomers. “My mom might have found a place for me to stay for a while,” he said. “But it won’t be ready for a couple of weeks.”

“You won’t need it,” I said confidently. Or at least with all the assurance I could summon. “We’re close to finding the killer.”

“Really?” His eyes opened wide and the hope on his face almost destroyed me.

“We’re almost there,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Just be patient a little longer, okay?”

After a long second, he nodded. “Okay. I can hang on for a while. But, Minnie, please don’t take too long. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a very good one.

“It’ll work out,” I said.

But both of us knew it might not.

*   *   *

With Skyler out as a suspect due to his solid alibi, I turned my attention to the others on my list. Charlie Seller, the nephew. Ian Breece, the farmer. Keegan Kolb, Ryan’s upstairs neighbor. John Pinnock, the Mattocks’ cranky neighbor.

“What do you think?” I asked.

It was the next evening, and Rafe and Eddie and I were in the backyard, enjoying the warmth brought to us by a kindly southwest breeze that had pushed the cloud cover away. Up above us now was a deeply blue sky that conjured memories of jumping into a lake off the end of a dock, summer art fairs, and dripping ice cream cones.