And maybe it was good that Danielle Anderson was on her way out of town. After our extremely short chat, my suspicions were strong that Ryan had, in fact, contacted his mother, and that she wasn’t about to say anything to anyone about it.

While the law-abiding side of myself objected to that possibility, the empathic side of myself understood completely. I wasn’t a mother, but if, say, Kristen was accused—wrongly, of course—of theft and murder, what would I do? What would I do if Rafe was accused?

By the time my thoughts got to this point, I was standing on my aunt’s front porch, finger pushing the doorbell. She opened the door and I said, “Just so you know, if the police want to haul you in on suspicion of murder, and I don’t think you did it, I’ll probably be okay with hiding you until things get sorted out.”

Aunt Frances didn’t blink. “Good to know. Coffee? You sound undercaffeinated.”

I wasn’t sure that was a word, but if it wasn’t, it should be. “Coffee would be fantastic.” As we walked through the house, its thick carpets making our footsteps swoosh lightly, I looked around. No Otto in the front parlor–type room. No Otto in the study or anywhere that I could see. “What did you do with your husband?”

“Meeting with Cody Sisk, the young man from your bike and kayaking shop. They’re finishing the winter financials and polishing up the summer plans.”

Calling it “my” shop was a huge stretch. All I’d done was connect a business owner who’d expanded a bit too fast with Otto, a retired accountant and financial wizard. At the time, I’d already dragooned Otto into giving the occasional free personal finance workshop at the library and it had taken only a minor nudge to get him to meet with Cody. Otto had subsequently invested in Cody’s business and the shop was now thriving. All this had started from me popping into the shop one day and chatting. Which went to show, you just never knew what could happen.

I plopped myself in the big kitchen’s cozy breakfast nook. Aunt Frances slid two mugs onto the nook’s butcher-block table and sat across from me. “Don’t you have a job?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve been fired and are coming to me for sympathy. I’m fresh out.”