My gray eyes flicked to Violet Fox, who continued to sleep on the sofa. “If Warren and Fletcher had a falling out all those years ago, why would Warren’s granddaughter come looking for Fletcher now?”

Jo-Jo shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the girl or Warren are in trouble like you think they are, asking Fletcher Lane for help would be the very last thing the Warren T. Fox that I know would do. Pride’s one of the most important things to him. Which is why he never made up with Fletcher. Stella humiliated them both, and Fletcher reminded Warren too much of that.”

I grabbed a cloud-shaped oven mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the apricot bars. The smell of warm fruit, sugar, and melted butter filled the kitchen, along with a blast of heat. A combination I never grew tired of, especially on a cold, gray night like this one. I grabbed another oven mitt, set it on the table, then put the pan on top of it. Finn’s fingers crept toward the edge of the container, but I smacked his hand away.

“I’m not done with them yet,” I said.

“Come on, Gin,” he whined. “I just want a taste.”

“And you’re just going to have to wait, like the rest of us.”

Jo-Jo chuckled, amused by our squabbling. I moved over to the cabinets and got out four bowls, some spoons, and a couple of knives. I also grabbed a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer. After the apricot bars had cooled enough so they wouldn’t immediately fall apart, I cut out big chunks of the bars, dumped them in the bowls, and topped them all with two scoops of the ice cream. My own version of a quick homemade cobbler.

Jo-Jo swallowed a mouthful of the confection and sighed. “Heaven, pure, sweet heaven.”

Finn didn’t agree with her. He was too busy stuffing his face to chime in.

I took a bite. The ice cream was a cool, soft, creamy contrast to the warm, heavy richness of the apricot bars, and both melted together in my mouth in a symphony of flavors. Jo-Jo was right. I’d outdone myself again.

We were scraping up the remains of our dessert when the front door to the house banged open. Heavy, familiar footsteps sounded, and a moment later, Sophia Deveraux enter the kitchen. Her black Goth clothes looked out of place among the pastel appliances, like a storm cloud suddenly passing in front of the sun.

“Want some dessert?” I asked, fixing another bowl of apricot bars and ice cream for her.

“Um-mmm.” Sophia grunted yes and sat down next to Jo-Jo.

Finn waited until Sophia was halfway through her ice cream before he asked her the inevitable question. “Any trouble picking up the body?”

Sophia’s flat, black eyes met his green ones. “Nuh-uh.”

The Goth dwarf ’s version of no.