After they’d laughed loud and long about an incident involving duct tape, plastic wrap, and a doorway, Connor wiped his eyes and looked at me. “Sorry, Minnie. You’re probably already tired of these stories.”

“Turns out I rarely hear any stories that make him look bad,” I said, smiling. “So some of these are new to me.”

Connor leaned forward. “Well, then, you definitely need to hear about the time—”

“Speaking of time,” Rafe interrupted. “Don’t you have a lot to do today?”

He certainly did. I’d learned the night before that Connor and his wife had just purchased a lakefront cottage not too far away. A fixer-upper, apparently, which was why he’d contacted Rafe and asked for advice. Connor was north this weekend to work on the cottage and try to get it livable before summer.

“That’s right.” Connor snapped his fingers. “I’m here to work. Ten minutes with you, Niswander, and I forget all about my responsibilities.”

Rafe nodded. “Glad I could help. But Minnie and I do have ulterior motives.”

“Figured.” Connor grinned. “Knew you wouldn’t buy my breakfast for old times’ sake.”

“Not a chance. We’re looking for info on a fellow orthodontist.”

Because I’d also learned the night before, on the drive back from the Moose Jaw, that Rafe’s friend had started as a biology major, become interested in dentistry, and eventually enrolled at University of Detroit Mercy to get the education and training needed to become an orthodontist.

Connor added more sugar to his coffee. “Yeah, I know,” he said, catching my half smile. “Sugar is bad for your teeth, coffee stains, blah blah blah. Do as I say, not as I do, kids. What kind of info do you want?”

“Anything you’re comfortable telling us,” I said. “We don’t want you to break any confidences”—a complete lie, because if he knew something about Charlie that led to Pug’s killer, I didn’t care what doctor-patient confidentiality rules he broke, but I couldn’t say that out loud—“but anything you can tell us about Charlie Seller would be helpful. You probably know him as Charles.”

“Seller?” Connor looked off into the distance. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Is he a friend?” Rafe asked.

Connor shook his head. “We’ve met at conferences, is all. My practice is too far away from his to be a competitor.”

“What’s he like?” I asked. “We’re asking because . . . because he’s the nephew of a friend of mine, and she’s recently widowed, no children of her own. I just want to make sure a family member will be looking after her.” All true, but not all of the truth.

“One of my business partners,” Connor said slowly, “is a good friend of his.”

Rafe and I exchanged a look. “But . . . ?” I asked.