Robbie approached with a smile, wearing a V-neck sweater over a button-down. He motioned them into the foyer. “Come in, come in.”

They passed the front office and sitting room and made their way into the open-concept living room, dining room, and kitchen space.

In the 1920s, Finley’s great-grandparents had built the original clapboard farmhouse. With gingerbread porch trim and redbrick chimneys, it oozed charm, if not square footage. By the time Robbie and June inherited it, it had been crumbling at the edges.

Right around the same time Finley had received her nest egg from her dad, her aunt and uncle had renovated the farmhouse. They’d added three thousand square feet in a way that beautifully complemented the original style and architecture. Nowadays, every inch of this place was in excellent shape.

A Jeep Grand Cherokee, Lexus sedan, and a sports car from the 1960s occupied the new garage. They’d purchased a vacation cottage on the Gulf Coast and went on two cruises annually.

Given that the increase in their standard of living had occurred right when Finley had received a monetary gift from her father, and given that Robbie’s job had remained the same up until his retirement, she strongly suspected that she had not been the only beneficiary of her father’s lucrative investment in Apple. It would have been very much like her dad to give money to both of the people he cared about most.

The group settled onto the overstuffed furniture. Soon, they had drinks in their hands and were snacking on the appetizers arrayed on the coffee table. Robbie and June’s current cat—the fourth gray cat they’d owned during Finley’s lifetime—curled into a donut on her lap.

There was no reason to rush the conversation she’d come to have with her uncle. In the most recent clue, her dad had specified that she should not alert Robbie to the fact that her questions were connected to the hunt. To pull that off, she needed to act as normally as possible and raise the subject of the day before the murder as organically as possible.

She amused herself by observing Luke in the habitat of her relatives’ home. He’d chosen clothing more formal than usual—a simple navy sweater and gray pants. He was on his best behavior. Quiet, but polite. Charming in a reserved way. She could tell that Aunt June was already in raptures over him.

After a time, they transitioned to the dining table. Robbie and June carried over ham, biscuits, salad, and potatoes. Finley helped herself to everything except the ham, which most definitely wasn’t vegan.

June, bless her, brought up Finley’s dad while they ate. “I miss him so,” she said. “Just the other day, Robbie and I went to Skyline Diner, where we used to eat breakfast with your father. I couldn’t think of anything but him the whole time.”