As we turned the corner, I could see my landlady, Mabel D’Angelo, sprinkling de-icer on the sidewalk. Ours is the best-kept property on the street. In the summer, the grass is perfectly cut at all times, the perennial beds lush and well weeded. Colorful annuals in terracotta pots or iron urns line the walkways and spill out of containers on the wide front porch. In the fall, the flowerbeds are turned over, every fallen leaf raked up, the bushes wrapped in burlap. Come winter, not a single flake of snow falls before Mrs. D’Angelo is out clearing the paths.

  Mattie woofed in greeting, and Mrs. D’Angelo straightened from her labors. She wore a long, ragged scarf and a bulky winter coat that reached her ankles. Her ever-present iPhone, the latest model, was in her coat pocket and white wireless earbuds in her ears.

  “Merry!” She waved the bag of de-icer at me. “What’s this I hear? The whole town’s abuzz. Naturally, my phone’s been ringing off the hook, as everyone knows you live here.” She smiled at me, her eyes alight with excitement and anticipation.

  Naturally. Mrs. D’Angelo had one interest in life, and it wasn’t care of her property. The reason our yard is the best-kept on the street is in the service of her keeping an eye on the goings-on of the neighborhood, so as to report to her vast network of contacts, who were presumably also watching their streets.

  “I don’t know much, Mrs. D’Angelo,” I said. “I wasn’t there when it happened.”

  Her face fell. Then it quickly rose again. “But it … the murder … happened at your store.”

  “I’m not sure if it’s murder.” I lied. “The police haven’t said.”

  She waved that minor point away with a mittened hand. “Never mind what they say. Everyone knows. They say it’s Paula Monahan, who teaches geography and history at Rudolph High. She’s been there for five years, although she’s lived in Rudolph longer than that. She was at Muddle Harbor previously. She must have been desperate to get out of there. I can’t say I know her. I couldn’t place the name offhand, but my sources tell me she and her family live on Oak Street. Nice part of town, although not quite as nice as this one.” She took my arm. “I’m finished here, and the coffee pot’s on. There’s no snow in the forecast for tonight, but it never hurts to be prepared. The weather report’s almost always wrong, isn’t it? A cup of coffee would do me good, and you too, I’m sure. Come along now.”

  “I don’t have time, sorry. I have to … do something.”

  “Nonsense.” She dragged me to the porch and up the steps. Mattie trotted along behind. “We’ll sit out here. It’s warm enough out of the wind. I’ll get the coffee and a bowl of water for Matterhorn. Such a nice dog.”

  She went inside. I grimaced at Mattie. “What can I do? She’s a force of nature.” My parents taught me to always be polite and accept hospitality when it’s offered, but I did consider cowardly slipping silently away. Too late! She was back, with a tray bearing a coffee pot, two chipped mugs, a jug of cream, a plate piled high with freshly made chocolate chip cookies, and a bowl of water. She put the tray on the wrought iron table and the bowl on the floor for Mattie. He dove in.

  My fate sealed, I took a seat in one of the white wicker chairs and settled back into the blue and yellow cushions.

  “Now.” My landlady dropped into her own chair and leaned toward me. “Paula Monahan. High school teacher. Husband named Kevin. He’s an insurance broker. One child named Edward, who’s said to be a hellion. She’s active in the community theater group and is in rehearsals for the upcoming production of A Christmas Carol, in which she was supposed to play Mrs. Cratchit, as well as a member of the chorus.”

  “You know as much about her as I do.”

  Mrs. D’Angelo poured the coffee and shoved a mug toward me. “As I said, she teaches at Rudolph High. She’s not popular there, not with the students or her fellow teachers. Norman King’s granddaughter’s also a teacher there. This is the young Miss King’s first year teaching, and Norman says that she says that Paula, who should be mentoring her, is instead so unpleasant she’s ruining Miss King’s desire to continue in that career.”

  I wondered if I should put “young Miss King” on my suspect list. Not that I had a suspect list.

  “Although,” Mrs. D’Angelo went on, “Norman says his granddaughter doesn’t have all that much to complain about. She’s gone to California to spend Christmas with friends and is considering not coming back.”

  Scratch that name off my nonexistent list. I sipped my coffee. I refrained from spitting it out. You could stand a spoon up in there. The pot must have been on all day, waiting for a chance for Mrs. D’Angelo to drag some unsuspecting innocent bystander onto her porch. “Thanks for the coffee, but—”

  “The police were around at their house earlier. No one answered the door. Norma Robinson, you know Norma, of course, dear.”

  Never heard of her in my life.

  “Norma popped over when she saw them. To be of assistance, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “She told them they wouldn’t find Kevin at home. He’s left. They’re getting a divorce.”

  I choked on a mouthful of treacle-like coffee. When I could speak again, I said, “How do you know that?”

  Mrs. D’Angelo smirked. As well she might. Usually her gossip was nothing but endless chatter reported by people I’d never heard of concerning people I didn’t know doing things I didn’t care about. But every once in a while, she could throw a good curveball.

  “It’s no secret on their street there’s been trouble in the marriage for a long time. If people want to keep their private lives private, they shouldn’t buy houses so close to their neighbors, now should they? Or keep their windows open. Never mind arguing in the driveway. According to Norma and some of my other friends, the severity of the Monahans’ arguments has been increasing recently. Their latest dispute seem to be about the boy, Edward. The father thinks the mother is spoiling the boy. The boy, according to Norma, is a horror. Rude, ill-disciplined, slovenly, lazy. He is, despite all that, the apple of his mother’s eye. Comes from having children late in life, I always say.” Mrs. D’Angelo eyed thirty-something me carefully. She had no children, and Mr. D’Angelo had left the scene long ago. That didn’t stop her opining on other people’s drawbacks when it came to marriage and childrearing. “Not for me to criticize, of course.”

  “Of course not.” I helped myself to a cookie. Mattie settled at the top of the porch steps and watched a small dog and its person walking down the street. The dog yipped and strained at the leash to get to Mattie. Mattie yawned.

  “Things came to a head on Wednesday,” Mrs. D’Angelo continued. “What day’s today, Merry?”

  “Friday.” The cookie was surprisingly good, rich and buttery and full of chopped nuts. I took another.

  “Two days ago, then. Kevin Monahan was seen dragging two suitcases and a computer bag out of the house at seven thirty in the evening and putting them into his car with a considerable amount of force.”

  “He might have been going on a trip.”

  “If so, he intends it to be an extended one. She, Paula, followed him out. They had words. According to Norma, she, Paula, was yelling to beat the band. And Kevin, as is normal for him, gave as good as he got. He told her he was leaving. She told him not to bother coming back. He said she could be sure of that. He said he was sick and tired of her nagging all the time, and she said she couldn’t help it if she wanted to have a life.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Norma didn’t know. Although she did know that Kevin thought she, Paula, was spending too much time with the theater company. His parents came to visit for a few days last week, and he was not happy when Paula said she wouldn’t be able to spend time with them as she had rehearsals to attend. ‘Fine, said Kevin, they don’t like you anyway, but they’re here to see Eddie’. And Paula said, ‘Too bad, Eddie is also needed at rehearsals.’ So then—”

  “Your friend Norman overheard all of this?” I eyed the cookie plate, debating if it would be rude to have a third. I decided it would not.

  “Norma. Not Norman. Do try to keep up, Merry. Norma has a beautiful deck attached to the side of her house, close to the Monahans’ kitchen windows. She gets the full afternoon sun, so sits out there a good part of the time, even in winter if the day is nice The Monahans’ windows are often open to let in fresh air.”

  “How convenient.”

  “As a parting shot, Kevin told Paula—”

  “And most of the street,” I muttered around the last bite of my third cookie.

  “—he’s going to try for full custody of Eddie. He then slammed the trunk of his car shut and drove away. At a speed that would have had the police pulling him over, had one been around.”

  “That is interesting.” Maybe this case would get wrapped up quickly. Nothing like a battle over child custody to get people going to extremes.

  If so, poor Eddie.

  “Your friend told the police all this?”

  “Of course, dear. Like a good citizen should.” I didn’t hear anything, but Mrs. D’Angelo jerked to attention like a dog catching a whiff of a squirrel invading his property. Although I only know how a dog reacts when he catches the scent of a squirrel from observing Alan’s overly enthusiastic Jack Russell, Ranger. Mattie stretches and rolls over.

  “Merry Wilkinson is here now,” my landlady said.

  “What?” I started to ask, then I realized she’d answered her phone and was listening on her earbuds.

  “Yes, that’s right. Paula was murdered in the middle of the day, in the middle of town. In Merry’s store, of all places. Merry says she herself was lucky to escape with her life.”

  “Hey!”

  “She’s dreadfully upset. I’ve managed to calm her down with a freshly brewed cup of coffee and comforting conversation. Hold on a minute, I’ll ask.”

  She spoke to me. “It’s Cathy Dickens, dear. She wants to know if you noticed Paula behaving in an unusual way in the minutes before her untimely demise. Might she have had a premonition that death was imminent?”

  “I told you, Mrs. D’Angelo. I wasn’t there.”

  “Cathy has an intense interest in spiritualism. She’s foretold events on more than one occasion.”

  I stood up. “I’d better be going. Thank you for the coffee.” I called to Mattie, and we descended the steps.

  “Now that you mention it,” Mrs. D’Angelo said. “Merry says that’s entirely possible.”

  * * *

  Mrs. D’Angelo did seem to know a heck of a lot about the state of the Monahans’ marriage, but as Mattie and I climbed the steps, I reminded myself that she wasn’t above stretching the truth more than a little in the interest of making herself and her news seem important. Such as reporting to her friends that I not only saw Paula in the minutes before her death, but was somehow aware of her state of mind. It was possible, likely even, Mrs. D’Angelo’s contacts did the same.

  Still, if the Monahan marriage was breaking up and things threatened to turn ugly that would provide a powerful motive for murder.

  I let us into our small apartment. Mattie ran into the kitchen and began pushing his empty food bowl around. A not too subtle hint that he’d like his dinner now.

  I took care of that, poured myself a glass of wine, and dropped onto the couch. When I was comfortably settled, I called Alan and he answered almost immediately.

  “Hey, Merry, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

  “That’s nice. How’s it sound to you?”

  “Like normality itself.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Today it is.”

  “Things quiet at the store right now?”

  “Quiet? Alan, what have you been doing all day?”

  “Working. I’m in the shop. Getting a lot done. What’s the time? Oh, almost dinner time. Are you on your break?”

  I smiled to myself. Alan’s woodworking shop was a place unto itself. When he was in there, crafting marvelous things out of wood with his own strong, gentle hands, he tuned out the entire world. The shop had a hotplate, on which he could make coffee or heat up a bowl of soup, and a fridge, well stocked with snacks and water so he didn’t need to go into the house. While he worked, he listened to music from a streaming service, not the radio. He took breaks to let Ranger have a romp in the woods, but then went straight back inside. He didn’t answer the phone unless it was me or his parents calling, or a customer or supplier he was waiting to hear from. And, often, not even then.

  I didn’t want to disturb his peace by telling him what had happened. But he’d hear about it eventually.

  “I’m at home,” I said. “I closed the shop early.”

  “Why?”

  Briefly and as succinctly as possible I told him.

  He said nothing until I was finished and then he simply said, “I’ll come over right now, if you need me.”

  “It was upsetting, yes, but I’m okay. I’m going put on my pajamas and take my book to bed and take advantage of an early night. With a glass of wine. Or two. But first, I need to find out what’s happening with Jackie.”

  “Okay. Call if you need to talk or want me to come over. Is the play going to go ahead, do you think?”

  “I see no reason why not. Paula wasn’t an important player. She had a small speaking role, and it can be recast. The auditorium’s been booked, advertising paid for, guests invited, tickets sold, and the remaining cast and crew will want to go ahead with it.”

  We didn’t talk for much longer. Alan told me what he was working on and a funny story about Ranger stalking a chipmunk around the woodpile. But Alan’s not one for small talk, and even though it wasn’t long after six, my day had been an exhausting one, and I had no idea what tomorrow might bring. We exchanged good-nights and hung up. I called Jackie, but got her voicemail. That might mean she was in jail, or it might mean she wasn’t answering her phone. I left a message and asked her to return my call.

  I then called Vicky, who also didn’t answer. I finished my wine while leafing through a design magazine without taking in a word.

  I was about to suggest to Mattie it was time for our nightly walk, when he lifted his head, let out a joyous bark, and bounded across the apartment with the sort of energy that could mean only one thing. Sure enough, seconds later, the doorbell rang.

  “I wonder who that could be,” I muttered. I knew full well who. Only one person ever got such an enthusiastic reception from my dog. That person was not me.

  I left my apartment and ran down the stairs, Mattie hot on my heels.

  As expected, Detective Diane Simmonds stood on the step, waiting for us. Mattie dropped into a sit and smiled up at her, expecting a pat.

  She obliged. “You’ve done a good job training Matterhorn.”

  “Not so as I’d notice,” I said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind. Come on in. I assume you’re here to see me, not the dog.” I led the way up the stairs and into my apartment. I’d cleaned about a week ago, so it wasn’t too terribly messy.

  I nodded toward the empty glass of wine on the coffee table. “Can I get you something?”

  “This isn’t a social call, Merry.”

  “Oh. Okay. Have a seat.”

  She perched on the edge of a dining room chair. She didn’t remove her jacket. Mattie settled himself at her feet. “Tell me again what you were doing between two o’clock this afternoon and when you called 911.”

  I did so. It didn’t take long.

  “You see, Merry, what I’m wondering is why you stayed in the back when you knew someone had come into your store.”

  “I told you. Mattie spilled his water and I refilled the bowl.”

  “I know you well enough to know you take your business seriously. Yes, Rudolph’s a peaceful town. But no place is entirely crime or vandalism-free, and you stock a good many delicate items. As well as ones that are small and easily portable.”

  I didn’t care for the look on her face. Even Mattie let out a low whine.

  “What are you saying, Detective? I’m a small shop owner, and sometimes I’m working by myself in the store, or one of my employees is alone. One person can’t be out front all the time. It happens.”

  “I’m wondering if you have reason to have not heard what was going on out front.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Not heard. Or not tell me what you did see or hear.”

  I opened my mouth. I closed it again. Mattie nuzzled the detective’s leg. For once, she ignored him.

  I might have mentioned that he doesn’t care to be ignored. Head down, he crept across the floor to sit next to me. I put my hand on top of his head. I shifted in my seat. I wanted to get myself another glass of wine, but I was afraid that would look as though I was nervous.

  Heck, I was nervous.

  I picked up my glass and went into the kitchen. Mattie followed me. “I’m not sure what you’re saying, Detective. I told you what happened, exactly how it happened. Do I wish I’d gone out front as soon as I heard the door chimes? Yes, I do. If I’d done so, Paula would likely still be alive.”

  “You think you could have stopped a killer?”

  “I think this person saw she was alone and thus made his move on the spur of the moment. Her move. Their move. If I’d been there, things would have been different.” I took my drink back to the living room. I sat down. “Maybe they would have been different.” Then again, maybe I’d be dead too. I didn’t say that out loud.

  Simmonds stood up. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Wait. What’s happening? What about Jackie?”

  “Ms. O’Reilly’s lawyer showed up very promptly. I assume that was your doing. You and Vicky Casey. Tom Casey himself will be representing Jackie.”

  “Does Jackie need continuing representation?”