Good question. And if I had a minute—or ten—I’d think of a good answer. “That day it was nice out, Rafe and I went for a bike ride. I hit a pothole in front of Pinnock’s house, and he came out and said he’d complained to the road commission about it three times last week.”

“I know who he is.” My aunt nodded. “He’s one of those perpetually disgruntled people. He used to show up at county board meetings to complain about things the commissioners didn’t have any control over.”

Hmm, I thought. Very hmm.

The others moved off toward the dessert table, but Kristen didn’t move. “Do you want me to get you something?” I said.

“No. When you asked about John Pinnock, you almost said something else. I want to know what it is.”

There were times when knowing someone so well was inconvenient. But since she was eleven and a half months pregnant, I told her. “I’ve added him to the suspect list for Pug Mattock’s death.”

She nodded. “You’d better solve this fast. I might give birth any second.”

“On it. Because it really is all about you.”

“Me and my Mini Cooper here.” Kristen grinned and patted her belly. “Do you have any other suspects? Oh, hang on. No inching away from me. I can tell it’s someone you don’t want to talk about. Who is it? The Dalai Lama?”

I sighed. “Ian Breece,” I said, and explained how he’d lied about being at Pug’s house.

“That’s weird.” Kristen frowned. “I know they’ve been having financial issues. Their main irrigation well went bad last fall and a new one cost them thousands of dollars. But I don’t see how that could have anything to do with Pug.”

“Did Ian know Pug?”

“No idea.”

We mutually shrugged. Kristen buttonholed Otto to talk about tax advantages for college tuition savings plans and I wandered over to the desserts.

But I was thinking about Saturday. Because I was suddenly sure that what Rafe and I needed was a trip to Breece Farms.

*   *   *

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and—for Up North in mid-April—positively balmy at forty-five degrees with a promise of the day’s high reaching the dizzying heights of sixty. The warmth wouldn’t last, we knew the truth of that deep in our bones, but that was all the more reason to get out and enjoy the feel of the sun on our skin.