I stopped short. I’d been thinking so hard I’d almost run into Conservation Officer Jenica Thomas, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh,” I said. “Hi. How are you?”

“Healthy, thank you.” She nodded. “I saw you and wanted to answer your question about Mr. Mattock. The other night, at the fish fry, I wasn’t free to respond, but now I am.”

“Oh,” I said again. “Okay.”

“Mr. Mattock had provided me with information about a hunter taking turkeys out of season. Poaching. He’d wanted to help me trap the hunter, and that’s why I was at his cottage that day. We were discussing ideas. The hunter has just been apprehended and been given multiple citations, so I now feel free to mention this to you.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said, meaning it.

“You’re welcome.” Jenica nodded. “I wasn’t comfortable answering your question the other night due to personal time constraints and the fact that it was an ongoing investigation, but I also wasn’t comfortable not responding. The best solution was to respond as soon as I could.”

I thanked her again, watched her drive away in her dark green truck, and continued back to the library, thinking about traps.

*   *   *

A trap with a Conti as a lure hadn’t been necessary to eliminate Charlie or Keegan from the suspect list, but maybe setting a trap would help figure out who had been the one to kill Pug.

That’s what I told Rafe, anyway, over the dinner that I’d laboriously ordered, picked up from the Chinese restaurant, and put onto plates. He used the wood chopsticks that came with the food; I used a fork out of the kitchen drawer. There were times to learn new things and there were times to play to your strengths, and when you were hungry and knew you’d be able to eat sooner rather than later if you used a fork, well, forks were the way to go.

“I see your point,” he said. “But let’s not forget that we’re trying to identify a killer. And though maybe murder is different, it’s almost always easier to do something the second time.”

Half a forkful of shrimp-fried rice dropped onto my plate. “Why, Rafe Niswander. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.”

“Well, yeah.” He expertly twirled rice noodles onto his chopsticks. “Just put a nonrefundable deposit down on our wedding photographer.”

I frowned. “I thought that friend of yours was taking the pictures.” Whose name escaped me at the moment. Fred? No, that wasn’t right. But similar. Frank? What other name started with an F?

“Six-pack of bottled craft brew,” he said, sounding aggrieved. “Not the cheap stuff I get.”