“They’re lucky to have you helping.”

Kara grinned. “I’ll tell them you said so.”

“You do that because I mean it.”

The doorbell rang, and Em said, “I’ll get it. You finish that oatmeal.”

Kara was almost done, and dished up two bowls. Em loved bananas, so Kara sliced a banana and drizzled honey on top. She fixed her own and turned to see Andy Knolls standing in the threshold, in uniform, his hat in his hand.

“Your grandmother said you were in here.”

Kara called out, “Em! I have your oatmeal ready!”

Emily came in and picked up her bowl. “I’ll eat in the sunroom.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. I don’t want to hear about this case. Everyone is talking about it, and I’d rather not think about those things.” She shuffled off.

She didn’t want to talk to Andy, or offer him breakfast, but realized she’d have to do both.

“I made oatmeal. Fresh.”

“I’m fine. Gracie and I had breakfast after church.”

She glanced at the clock. It was after ten.

“I wanted to come by before the briefing. Are you going? Do you want a ride?”

“I don’t need to be there,” she said. She sat at the kitchen table and motioned for Andy to sit.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Kara. I really am. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about how I disappointed you, how I let down my entire department.”

She was fine with him not sleeping.

“I’ve seen dead bodies—car accidents, mostly. A man who shot his head off, suicide. That was three years ago. It still haunts me, but it’s not the same.”

She didn’t see the difference. To her, the only difference was if you knew the victim. When you saw the dead eyes of someone you had spoken with, someone you liked, someone who trusted you—yeah, that was fucking hard to deal with. She felt bad that Jeffrey Ogdenburg had been murdered in his sleep, but his death was her job. In a manner of speaking. It was a cop’s job. She could separate her emotions from the scene.

“Andy,” she said, “you grew up in a quiet town. Murder isn’t pretty. It’s violent and vicious and usually the reasons are stupid. A guy gets popped for ripping off his drug dealer. A girl gets strangled for leaving her boyfriend. A husband beats on his wife and kids because he’s a fucking asshole. It happens.”

“It doesn’t happen here.”

“It has now. And it will happen again. If you can’t handle it, yeah, you should quit.”

His face fell.

Damn, she was no good at this psychology shit.

“Look,” she said bluntly, “you’re a good person, and you can be a good cop. Everyone here in Liberty Lake likes you. They trust you, they listen to you. And they no longer feel safe. You can fix that, but you’re going to have to want to. You’re going to have to work for it. And that means sucking up whatever fear is inside and dealing with this psycho. That means going back to training so you don’t leave your partner high and dry at a crime scene. You have to want it. If you’d prefer to stand around feeling sorry for yourself and your town, go ahead. Just give your badge to that idiot Pierce Dunn and be done with it.”