“I don’t know, Travis,” I said. “But I might be able to find out. If I do, I’ll tell you.”

  “I appreciate it.” He sniffed a few times and made a valiant effort to keep from crying again. Then he patted my hand. “We’ll find this guy, Shannon. Linda was a good person, and she didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  We sat in silence for several minutes, wrapped up in our own thoughts.

  “I’m going back to work,” Travis said.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I’m better off when I’m busy.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “I’m the same way. So how do you feel about vinyl siding?”

  He flashed me a grateful smile. “I feel just fine about it.”

  “Then come with me and I’ll set you up.”

  * * *

  * * *

  At house number thirty-four, Travis and I carried a stack of siding panels out to the exterior wall, where I’d left off the day before. Then I handed him a box of siding nails, and he was good to go.

  “That should keep me busy for a while,” he said, strapping on his tool belt.

  “Thanks, Travis,” I said. “By the way, have you found your tablet yet?”

  He scowled. “No. And I’m about to order a new one. Just wanted to wait a few days in case someone found it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We have bigger worries to deal with than my tablet.”

  “Yeah, we do,” I said, and knew he was thinking of Linda. I patted his shoulder. “I’ll be around if you need anything.” Then I walked into the house to leave my bag and grab my tool belt.

  I came to a stop when I saw Linda’s mosaic table in the kitchen area. I wanted to cry all over again, remembering how we’d spent so much time talking about her collection of mallets and all the interesting stones and glass she had collected.

  I wondered if she had actually made it to the beach yesterday to find her seashells. Had she put them in a bag or a pocket? I would have to ask Eric if he had found any of them.

  It would be a nice tribute if we could create something special from all of her seashells and stones and glass. I made a mental note to talk to Niall about it. As a stonemason, he tended to work with bigger stones than these, but I knew he could do something great with mosaics if I asked him.

  I pulled away the tablecloth and gazed at all the boxes of stones, pottery shards, and glass chunks. The hammer and hardie were exactly where she’d left them. And all the mallets were lined up in order—

  No. I stared at the table. No, they were not in order.

  “Something’s wrong,” I muttered, checking the antique mallets on one side and the more modern ones on the other. Where was her big, heavy wooden mallet? The one that her grandfather had created out of white ash and black walnut and weighted down with molten lead?

  On a hunch, I counted the mallets. I remembered counting twelve before, but now there were only ten. One of the other mallets was missing as well, and I couldn’t figure out which one it was. I looked under the table and all around the empty, unfinished room. The mallets were gone.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Shannon,” Eric said, talking on his speaker phone. “You know I’m not going to tell you anything about the investigation.”

  “But I might have some important information for you. I just need to know the shape of the murder weapon.”

  “Tell me what you know,” he said reasonably, “and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

  I scowled. “Eric, don’t make me have to tell Chloe how exasperating you are.”

  He laughed. “You don’t think she knows?”

  I sighed. Of course she knew. It was hardly a viable threat, darn it. “Okay, fine. Linda has a set of mallets that are really unusual.”

  “Did you say mallets? Like, croquet mallets?”

  “No, like mallets. Like hammers but different. Linda used a bunch of different mallets in her mosaic work. She used them to break up stone or marble or glass. Niall has a bunch of them. Have you seen them?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen some of his.”

  “Right. So one of Linda’s mallets was handmade by her grandfather. It’s heavy, made of wood and reinforced with lead inside, so it packs a wallop. The face of the head—you know, where you strike the stone—is a big four-inch square block.”

  He didn’t respond right away and my stomach sank.

  A tingling feeling traveled across my shoulders and down my spine. “That’s it. That’s what killed her. Am I right?”

  “Where did you last see this mallet?” he asked.

  “It was on her mosaic table. You know, where she did her work. We keep her table stowed inside house number thirty-four. But I’m looking at the table right now, and that mallet is missing.”

  “Of course it is,” he muttered angrily.

  “Oh, wait.” I brightened. “I have a picture of it. Not that it’ll help that much, but you’ll be able to see what it looks like.”

  “I’ll meet you at thirty-four.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Eric gazed at Linda’s mosaic table. “She’s got quite a collection of weapons here.”

  “They’re not weapons,” I insisted. “They’re tools for her artwork.”

  “Look like weapons to me.”

  I gazed at him steadily. “Have you ever looked inside Chloe’s tool chest?”

  “Don’t remind me. The woman could wipe out a small battalion with the weapons—I mean, tools—she’s got.”

  I wasn’t about to remind him that he and I had met for the first time when someone had stolen some of my tools and used them as deadly weapons. I still got chills when I recalled being interrogated by Eric for hours and wondering if I’d wind up inside a jail cell before the night was over.

  I pulled out my phone. Clicking into my photo collection, I handed it to Eric. “Here’s a photo of the big mallet I was talking about.”

  He stared at the photo, swiped the screen, and stared at a few more shots. “It’s a beauty all right.”

  “Yeah, it is. Did I tell you her grandfather made it?”

  “Yes.” He swiped again. “Okay, good. I can see your hand in this one, so I can figure out the scale.” He enlarged the picture and stared some more. Then he took hold of my hand and held it up. Squinting, he looked at my hand and then back at the photo and nodded.

  “Can you send me those photos?”

  “Sure. So you think that’s the murder weapon?”

  “Pretty darn sure. Now we’ve got to find it.”

  I winced. “So it’s missing.”

  “Yeah.” He clenched his jaw. “When we find it, we’ll find Linda’s killer.”

  I blew out a breath. “I’ve got more good news for you.”

  He glared at me. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  “Nope.” Don’t draw it out, I thought. Just say it fast. “There’s another mallet missing.”

  “What?” He sort of shouted the word.

  I winced. “I counted them the other day. I should’ve taken a picture of the whole collection, but I didn’t. So I’m not sure which one is missing, and I have no idea what it looks like.”

  “But you’re sure there’s a second mallet missing.”

  “Absolutely. There were twelve here, and now there are ten.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I was leaving Homefront for the day when Vince, the project manager, came walking quickly toward me.

  “Shannon, glad I caught you.”

  “What’s up, Vince?”

  “I have a little project for you to consider.”

  “You’re scaring me,” I said with a laugh. “There are no little projects around here.”

  He grinned. “Well, let me show you and you’ll decide.”

  “Okay.”

  He led the way into the community center, turned left, and walked to the end of the hall of offices. He opened the last door. The room was large and still unfinished, with the subfloor exposed and no baseboards yet. There were a couple of big windows along the one wall that looked out to the village, but otherwise, the room was a blank slate.

  “It’s a nice space,” I said. “But wasn’t this supposed to be your office?”

  “I don’t need anything this big. And remember, it was originally going to function as a second conference room, but it turns out to be superfluous.”

  “You sure?” I asked. “You are the big boss, after all.”

  “Tell the other guys, will ya?” He laughed. “The truth is, I like having my office closer to the front door. It’s big enough for me, and I can keep an eye on everything that’s going on.”

  “Makes sense.” I stepped into the room and gazed around. “So what do you have in mind for this space?”

  “Any chance we could turn it into two smaller offices?”

  I walked the length of the room and then checked out the width, counting my steps to gauge the size. I counted electrical outlets, lighting fixtures, and windows. I didn’t have my stud finder with me, so I began to knock on the surface of the wall at short intervals, listening for the change in tone from hollow to solid that indicated the presence of an upright support beam, better known as a stud. I quickly found them.

  “Of course,” I finally said.

  “I’m bringing in two more counselors and I need the space.”

  “So, you won’t need to add any extra windows or electrical outlets? Just a partition wall.”

  “Just the wall,” Vince said.

  “Okay,” I said after another moment studying the space. “We could build a partition wall right here.” I held out my arms to indicate. “I can’t go too much farther because of this window. So one office would be, oh, approximately sixteen by twenty feet, and the second office would be about sixteen by sixteen feet. Is that okay?”

  “Those are reasonable sizes for an office, right?”

  “Sure.” I was still mentally measuring. “And we really lucked out by putting in a second door off the hall, so we won’t need to build one into the partition.”

  “That was dumb luck.” He seemed to be mentally measuring the space as well. “So even in the smaller room, you can still fit a desk in there with a couple of chairs and a filing cabinet or two. Maybe an extra table at one end for a printer. I think that’ll work.”

  “Sure it will. We can do it easily.”

  Vince smiled, knowing I was already hooked on the project. And why wouldn’t I be? It wasn’t exactly a challenge. And it would be fun to work inside the center for a while. There was always a lot going on.

  I thought about the timing, tried to picture my schedules and my crew assignments. “I don’t want to pull any of my guys off the tiny house project right away. We’ve got a well-oiled machine out there, and I would hate to interrupt the momentum.”

  “Agreed. I’ve never seen a crew work with such single-minded determination.”

  I beamed at the compliment. “Thanks.” I walked around the room again. “Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking out loud here. I’ll ask my sister to help with the framing and the drywall.” I didn’t think Chloe would mind contributing some of her time to a good cause. But I frowned, considering everything that would have to be done. Glancing around, I said, “I’d rather not deal with electrical, and it looks like you’ve got plenty of outlets on these longer walls.”

  “Yeah, we won’t need more outlets.”

  “It’ll keep the cost down,” I muttered.

  “I like that.”

  “We’ll finish off the rooms when we’re done with the partition.” I paced as I made notes. “Lay down tile over this subfloor. Paint, of course. Baseboards, light fixtures, outlet covers, window shades, hardware.”

  Vince was beaming, and I realized he was letting me blather on because he was so happy I’d agreed to do the job.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just thinking out loud.”

  “Think away,” Vince said. “If you’ll give me a ballpark budget, I’m happy to have you start whenever you can.”

  “I’ll work it out tonight and get back to you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” We shook hands. “Thanks, Shannon.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Mac and I spent a quiet evening watching an old movie surrounded by our sweet little critters. We made a big healthy salad for dinner with veggies from the garden, which I’d been cultivating ever since I was seventeen and needed a hobby. Mac did his part by grilling chicken breasts and cutting one of them up for the salad.

  I had come home earlier and gone straight to my office to work out a budget for Vince. I’d made a list of supplies and equipment we’d need. After that, I’d given Wade and Carla a call to let them know about the additional job we’d be doing for the center. Once that phone call was finished, I shut down my work brain and settled in with Mac and the little ones.

  My heart still ached when I thought about last night’s discovery of Linda’s body on the beach. Every time I saw that image in my mind, I wanted to cry. And yet I’d been able to come home and work on numbers and dates and talk to my foremen as though nothing had changed in my world. I had been compartmentalizing my thoughts all day. Work had helped keep the pain at bay. The new project in the community center helped. But now, faced with the reality of Linda’s death, I just wanted to curl up and rock myself to sleep.

  Mac patted my back, then walked into the kitchen as a local commercial came on, touting a hardware superstore’s huge sale. “Our huge selection of tile work! Backsplashes! Kitchen and bathroom floors! Peel and stick! Accents and trims! Prices slashed through Sunday!”

  “Oh no,” I whispered, and burst into tears. I couldn’t stop. Why did it have to be a commercial for tile work? For backsplashes? Of all things! As inane as the subject matter was, it reminded me of Linda and I continued to sob quietly.

  Robbie seemed to feel my pain and cuddled up on my lap. Both cats moved to either side of me on the couch and gave me little headbutts to show they cared.

  The unconditional love of animals was a true miracle, I thought.

  Mac returned with a bottle of beer and noticed that I had lost it. “Hey, hey. Come here.” He picked up Luke and sat down next to me with the cat in his lap. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He pulled me close to him and simply rocked me as if I were a baby, and he whispered sweet, loving words that made me cry even harder.

  After a few minutes, I took a few long, slow breaths in and out. I felt waterlogged. “I’m sorry. It just hit me hard.”

  “Don’t be sorry. She was a good friend and a good person.”

  “Honestly, I barely knew her, but I felt like we connected. You know?”

  “I do, love. Once in a great while, a person touches your life, and you’re irrevocably changed for the better.”

  I sniffled. “I hate that someone hurt her.”

  “I do, too.”

  We held on to each other through the next inning. I was glad to have the baseball game on because we both needed the background noise and activity.

  During the next commercial break, Mac picked up his cell phone. “Sorry, love, but I just want to check and see if I got an email from one of the corporate board members I met with. They were supposed to vote on how much . . . holy cow.”

  “What?”

  “Check this out.”

  “What? An email?”

  “Not exactly.” He scratched his neck as he read his phone screen. “It’s the daily listing of new publication deals. And under the list of so-called ‘hot new properties,’ there was a blurb about a new manuscript written by Lewis Bondurant.”

  “Lewis Bondurant?” I frowned. “Is that Lewis from the writers’ retreat?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. The blurb said that he’d just submitted his latest book yesterday, and both his agent and his publishers are lauding this modern adventure story as the next huge blockbuster hit.”

  “But . . . that’s just weird,” I said. “Linda told me he couldn’t even figure out how to start his next book.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Mac reasoned. “That’s why this jumped out at me.”

  I thought back to my conversation with her. “Linda felt bad because his writer friends were so jealous of him. He’d hit it big on the first book, so now they wouldn’t even try to help him plot out a second one.”

  Mac gave a cynical snort. “It’s not because they’re jealous. It’s because he’s an obnoxious jerk.”

  “There’s that. Linda was so worried about him because he was freaking out.”

  “Sounds like he was laying it on thick for Linda. That’s his style, after all. Always thirsty for any kind of attention.”

  Mac sipped his beer and thought about it for a long beat.

  I watched him. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just trying to thread a few facts together.”

  “Okay.” I waited.

  He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “The other night at the pub, Lewis approached Travis with an offer to come talk to the group.”

  “Right, and Travis wasn’t buying it.”

  “Smart man. But soon after that, Travis’s tablet was stolen.”

  “That’s right.” I gazed at him, knew what he was thinking. “Lewis had to have stolen it.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And you really believe he would send his agent someone else’s story?”

  “Actually, I do think that,” Mac said evenly.

  “But Travis writes adventure stories about wrestling bears and stuff.”

  “You know, I actually think he really did wrestle a bear or two in real life.”