They drove to Simmons Bakery, were lucky to find parking, then headed toward the entrance. Right when they approached the door, it opened, and Phil Graystone exited with Claire Fisher right behind him. It was clear by the way they chatted, they had a late breakfast or lunch together.

  She sensed Lucas tense up as he stopped walking, but then with a straight spine, he kept going. Belle hoped one of them would say hello or start a conversation. It was awkward. There was silence. It might have only been a few moments, maybe a minute, but it felt like ten.

  Father and son looked at one another, both stubborn in their stance and the expression on their faces. Neither one giving an inch. Belle wanted to fill the silence with nervous chatter about the weather, but she bit her lip.

  When Phil offered a terse nod, then walked right by, Belle was astounded. She’d never seen him act this way. He was always congenial, always loving and kind toward Lucas, toward everyone, really. After all, he was in real estate. He knew how to be professional. So why give Lucas the cold shoulder?

  Lucas tried to put up a good front. “We might as well sit down and grab a bite.”

  Once at their table, their orders placed, Belle said, “You don’t fool me for one second. Clearly, something’s off with your dad. Do you think he’s in trouble?”

  “No.” Then added, almost muttering, “Just hanging out with his partner in crime.”

  Belle was shocked. She leaned over the table. “You don’t think your dad had anything to do with Jeremiah’s murder, do you?”

  His jaw tensed. “Not really. But he’s acting suspicious about something.”

  “Then he’ll tell you what that is when the time is right. I’m sure he’s being extra careful when it comes to this case.” Though, if it was bothering Belle that Phil wouldn’t say what he was really doing before arriving late for lunch that day, it had to be grinding on Lucas.

  She wanted to smooth away the worry line between his eyebrows. See it relax. See him smile. “I’m sure he was just comforting Claire. Her husband was brutally murdered, and Jeremiah was a long-time performing agent for your dad.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “What do you think about Claire”—she whispered—“being the killer?”

  “It’s possible. I never questioned her, so I can’t say for sure. I knew a lot about Jeremiah, but not Claire. If she’s anything like that group of women who feel like they can run the town, she might have the potential to be vindictive or aggressive. I try not to assume the worst, because even though Forsythia can be demanding, she’s done a lot of good for the town. I knew Jeremiah and Claire were separated.” His frustration was obvious. “But that doesn’t mean guilty either.”

  “I know.” Belle thought back on the meeting she attended the day after the murder. “It’s just there was something fake about Claire’s sorrow.” Sure, there had been sobs, but no tears. “It was like she was soaking in the attention, the empathy, from the other women. Or acting like she was supposed to in her circumstance. It just didn’t feel real or convincing.”

  “Yes, and I’d be talking with her about that if I were on the case.”

  Belle wouldn’t even try and reassure Lucas that Mona was doing her job, asking all the right questions to the right people. If Phil was innocent, that would come out in the questioning. He wouldn’t be able to sidestep his alibi with the detective on the case, but that wouldn’t make Lucas feel any better.

  “Personally, I’m leaning toward Jamie,” she said. “He had huge motive for the sale of this house to go through.”

  The food arrived and they drifted to other conversations, even if the murder simmered in the back of their minds. Belle wanted to distract him before he spiraled. She knew how that worked. “It’s my turn to host. How would you and Lexie like to come to a pumpkin carving party at my house Friday night?”

  “Sure you want company before the big day? You’ll have to sell raffle tickets for hours,” Lucas said.

  “And I’ll be working with Claire Fisher.” She smiled. “Yes, I’m sure. It will be good for both us. It will be a fun activity with Lexie. And, I need indirect time with Sir Jack, where we’re present but not giving him one-on-one attention. This will be perfect.”

  “Yoohoo!” Forsythia waved from across the bakery, then headed toward them like a woman on a mission.

  Lucas said quietly, “I’m really not in the mood.”

  “I’m never in the mood.” That wasn’t completely true. There were times Belle could handle Forsythia better than other times, but she agreed. Right here, she wasn’t in the mood either.

  She stood next to their table. “I wanted to firm up some details for the big day.” She was brimming with exuberance but that quickly faded with the next statement. “I hope you’ve done your job by visiting all the local businesses.”

  “I’m getting there.” Belle didn’t know about all of them, but she had a good number of prizes for the raffle. Enough that she’d want to buy a few tickets.

  Out of nowhere, Lucas spit out a question. “How long had Claire and Jeremiah been separated?”

  It was obvious by the look on his face, the glint of determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw, that he was about to enter interrogation mode. Like it had been there, brewing behind the scenes for the past few days, waiting for an opportunity.

  Chapter Eleven

  Forsythia spluttered out nothing but air, in shock at Lucas’s abrupt question. Yes, Lucas knew it was out of place, but not only did he want to distract Forsythia from pestering Belle, but he wanted—no, needed—to feel like he was helping on the case. He had to squash the desire to make sure Detective Malloy wasn’t hovering close by, listening to his every word.

  After a few more stutters, she finally said, “I’m not quite sure. A few months at least.”

  “Was it an amicable separation?” he asked.

  She gave him a piercing glare. “You’re a babe in the world of love, Detective Graystone. You’ve never been married. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend in ages. You know, your young ward could use that motherly touch. You don’t need to do it all yourself.” She waved her hand. “I know, independence and all, but one can carry that too far.”

  “Lexie has her grandmother in her life,” Belle stated, almost as a challenge.

  Warmth bloomed in his chest at her defending him and Lexie, but the warmth didn’t last long. He knew Forsythia enough to know she’d throw every little bit of dirt she had on him to distract him. “It’s just a question, Forsythia.”

  “I know exactly what you’re getting at. For your information it was as amicable as any situation, given the circumstances.”

  “What were those circumstances? Was Jeremiah abusive? Was he a drinker?” He heard the warning voice in the back of his head, whispering, Back off, too much, but he couldn’t stop.

  With each question, Forsythia let out a small gasp. “Why, Detective Graystone. That’s shocking.”

  He shrugged. “It’s life. I’m not such a babe as you think.”

  She almost snorted. “Yes, more like a toddler.”

  He switched gears. “Do you know if Claire liked to scrapbook?” After all, that was her alibi. Home scrapbooking.

  “I couldn’t say. We all have our secrets.”

  “Not sure I’d call scrapbooking a secret,” he said drily. “What did they fight about?” He added, “Because all couples have their arguments. What were Jeremiah and Claire’s?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  Lucas felt the frustration mounting inside. It had been building for days. He knew this wasn’t the time. He knew this wasn’t the place. It wasn’t his job anymore. But he’d been taken off the case when his dad was a suspect. His dad was giving him the cold shoulder like they were mortal enemies. Even if he wasn’t the detective, this was his business because it concerned his father.

  He rattled off another question, unconcerned she hadn’t answered the last one. “How much of an allowance did Jeremiah offer Claire each month? Was it enough to sustain her previous lifestyle? Was he threatening to cut her off?”

  Another gasp. “Lucas Graystone, I’m going to talk with your mother.”

  He leaned in, pushed harder. “Did you know Claire threatened to sue Jeremiah? How far had she been pushed? Had she reached the end of her patience with the man?” Yes, he knew what he was implying. He wanted the reaction.

  Forsythia straightened. She gathered her wits and shot him a glare that could freeze water. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions, Detective. I know for a fact you’ve been demoted to beat cop.”

  “Investigating burglaries is not a beat cop.”

  Forsythia sniffed. “Might as well be.” Then, she relaxed, grew concerned. “Anyway, we need a top detective to catch this thief. We’re all worried. There’s a lot of wealth in this town, Detective Graystone. Your town needs you. Don’t fail us now.” Then she walked away, shoulders back, head high.

  Lucas hadn’t realized until now how quiet the bakery had grown. How loud had they been speaking? He took in a quick inventory of the place. Thankfully, his dad had left, but a few tables away sat Mia Harmen with Hannah. That was odd. Hannah worked with Clay Real Estate. He focused on the fact that Mia might have overheard his questioning. She would have no problem relaying to his dad what she’d overhead.

  “Maybe we should go,” Belle whispered. “I’m going to talk to Joel—Oliver if I must—and ask about yummy donations for Saturday.”

  “Agreed.” He approached the desk, paid the bill, then a few minutes later they left together. “All set with the donations?”

  “Of course. Oliver has no problem donating with glee when it means it’s his bakery products and not mine.”

  “That’s great.” The crisp air felt good on his hot face. He needed a minute or an hour to cool off. He needed to talk to his sister, even if it was just to the gray slab of stone that was her grave. His sister always understood, even if she wasn’t here to respond.

  At Belle’s house, he parked. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.” Then he felt her warm touch on his hand. “You’re under a lot of stress. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

  He looked into her eyes. He’d always noticed their particular color of green, but today they were dazzling. He was caught off guard for a moment, then said. “You didn’t even get to ask Oliver or Joel for a gift card.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not Saturday yet. I have tomorrow.” She placed her hand on the door to open it. “You and Lexie still up for tomorrow night?”

  He nodded. “Lexie will love it. It’ll be fun for all of us. Can I bring something?”

  “Nope. Let me take care of you this time.”

  He drove straight to the cemetery. He had the path to Abby’s grave memorized. He was surprised the grass wasn’t worn away, because he knew his mom came often, too.

  He dropped to his knees, fighting off a choking feeling in his throat. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed; the grief was always fresh. He’d heard about a corner you turn eventually. Sure, there were times he didn’t think about her, when he was focused on work and Lexie. But it hit him at night, especially when it seemed he was failing Lexie or when he made mistakes. He loved having Lexie in his life and he couldn’t imagine life without her, but he’d give anything to go back in time and prevent the car accident that took his sister and her husband.

  “Dad’s in his prime, Abs.” He laughed-slash-cried recalling the nickname. She’d gone through a period of lifting, claiming females could have those washboard abs too. No matter how many sit-ups she did every night, the washboard never appeared. The nickname was a no brainer.

  “For the first time, I’m not here to confess about failing as Lexie’s guardian. This is about Dad. You remember Jeremiah Fisher. How could you forget that cranky old man? He’s gone, murdered. Dad’s a suspect. He’s hiding something big. It doesn’t make any sense. And he’s not talking to me.”

  It was more than not talking. It was something else. His dad wouldn’t even smile or say hi outside of Simmons. It was a nod of the head, like they were barely acquaintances. It made no sense. That was the problem. Usually they would sit down, talk about things. The problems would resolve within minutes.

  “You would know what to do, Abs,” he whispered. “You would know what to say. You’d be able to calm me down. Convince me it’s no big deal.” Except, this time, Lucas wasn’t sure that it wasn’t a big deal. “Dad has never acted like this.” Not even as a teen when he broke the kitchen window with a baseball. Not even when he backed up the car and dented the front bumper.

  He told her all about what happened to Jeremiah. He told her about the suspects. The fact they never figured out who placed the recorder to make the house appear haunted. Was it a practical joke? He talked until he had covered every aspect of the murder. Then he told her about Detective Mona Malloy, the most frustrating cop in the world.

  His sister spoke to him. Not audibly. Her words came out loud and clear in his mind. Come on, Lucas. Give her a break. You know she’s fighting to prove herself in a mostly-man’s world.

  She might have a point, but Mona went overboard as far as not listening to his perspective. He’d been there. He’d found the body. He was a witness.

  Come on, you don’t think you’d be biased in the case? It’s your dad!

  “Fine,” he muttered. “I get it.”

  He wanted to talk to her about another matter. The way Belle’s green eyes sparkled. The special way she had with Lexie and the bond they’d formed. Her laugh. Her way of getting into the middle of his cases. Her intelligence. What a fighter she was after growing up neglected and over-worked by relatives. She was a survivor. But somehow the words wouldn’t come.

  With a quick change of direction, he updated her about Lexie. All her accomplishments. Of course, if Abby had been there in person, she’d know Lucas was holding something back, and she’d get him to confess within minutes.

  He ended on a high note. “Lexie is positively the best thing to come into my life. Of course, she was before, too.” This was different. “I just wish I could have both of you in my life.”

  With a resigned sigh, he said his last goodbyes, then headed back toward the car. Abby would have loved hearing about his confrontation with Forsythia. He’d need to apologize and would at the first opportunity.

  Now, he needed to move forward on the burglary case before he was fired.

  He had a list of questions to ask anyone who’d recently experienced a burglary. He wanted to know their alarm systems. Did they lock doors and windows at night? He wanted to know if they followed a daily, a weekly routine. If someone observed them, would a thief know when they were not at home? Would a thief know what time they usually returned? Did they keep valuables locked in a safe or strewn across a dresser?

  He’d studied the files. Even if he had a hard time caring right now when he had much bigger concerns on his mind, a few facts jumped out at him. These homes were targeted for specific pieces of jewelry. These homes were all located in the same wealthy part of town. He suspected a teenager, who knew these victims and had been in their homes.

  He knocked on doors and he asked the questions, but no one was forthcoming with helpful information. The frustration grew. This was almost harder than solving a murder.

  The last house was so large and landscaped, it was intimidating, but he’d dealt with this crowd often enough. He knocked on the door. It was the home of the O’Dooles, a prominent family in town.

  “Yes, may I help you.” An older gentleman had answered the door. He wore pink pants, a white shirt, and a matching bowtie. He also had a well-groomed mustache.

  “Mr. Patrick O’Doole, I assume. I’m Detective Graystone. I’m here about the robbery.”

  “Come on in.”

  Lucas followed him into the room directly off the entrance way. It was a grand library. It had a fireplace, and brown leather armchairs. It was a place meant for reading. He wondered at the value of some of the book collections he saw on the shelves.

  Patrick didn’t head toward the leather armchair but a small table with wood chairs in the corner. The large windows allowed the sun. “We’re not too concerned about this burglary business.”

  That was it. That was all he said. At the first home, Lucas had been surprised at the lack of indignance at being robbed, but they all responded in similar but different ways. It wasn’t what he expected. If anything, he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear complaining about the police slacking off, because the thief hadn’t been apprehended and the stolen items returned.

  “Why is that?” Lucas remembered back to the files. Mrs. O’Doole filed a complaint for a stolen matching set consisting of a necklace, bracelet, and a ring.

  “The stolen items weren’t family heirlooms. We weren’t looking to pass them onto great, great grandchildren. Quite frankly, maybe the thief needed it more than we did.”

  Again, Lucas was shocked. He didn’t expect complacency or generosity toward a thief. He ran through the typical questions. “Do you lock your doors and windows at night?”

  “Only the doors.”

  “You might want to consider the windows, too.”

  “I doubt the thief will come again,” Patrick said.

  “Do you have an alarm system?”

  “Yes, but he bypassed it. You know how technologically savvy people are today.”

  “Do you have video cameras inside or outside?”

  He stared at Lucas, like he was being accused. “Yes, but it’s all still sitting in the box.”

  “Hmm. What about your schedules? Do you follow a pretty routine schedule daily and weekly?”

  Patrick turned grumpy. “Of course. We live off our schedule. It’s what gives us purpose. It motivates us to get up in the morning, to keep on moving. It’s our social activities, our card games and social events, our charity and volunteering. We’re not about to give it up to stop a thief.”