together and she came back alone.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m walking around with one of those cartoon thought bubbles over my head. Today, it says, ‘Yep, good ole Eli Garrett screwed up again.’”
As they passed the reception desk, Connie made a point of pretending not to listen. She stared at her computer screen, fingers thumping busily on the keyboard.
Eli respected Connie; she was a valuable employee, always cool in the face of an emergency. He was pretty sure she was also an inveterate gossip, though he couldn’t prove it.
Gossip or not, Connie was a professional, and any news she leaked would be carefully vetted first, lest an investigation or a case be compromised.
Still, Eli regretted the thought-bubble remark because she’d definitely heard it.
Hell, she probably knew more about his life than he did.
Dan said his goodbyes and left. Eli went to the community coffeepot, saw the black dregs of the last brewing and sighed.
He changed out the basket, replacing the used grounds with fresh.
Then he rinsed and filled the pot and started a new batch.
Connie was grinning when he turned around to face her.
“You’re learning, Sheriff. I’m proud of you.”
“That makes one person in the universe,” Eli replied, weary again. He really needed more coffee, having finished the cup Dan brought while exploring the horrors of Freddie Lansing’s mind.
“You need a vacation,” Connie announced. “Or maybe a honeymoon?”
“Not you, too,” Eli lamented.
“That thought bubble you were talking about? It usually reads, ‘I’m so in love with Brynne Bailey, I can’t see straight.’”
“Off-limits, Connie. I’m not discussing Brynne with you.”
“Fine,” Connie said sweetly. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m dating somebody new.”
That caught Eli’s attention. Connie had been divorced for five years, and she was married to her job. Said so herself, constantly.
“That’s the first good news I’ve heard all day,” Eli said. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“You’ll be surprised.”
“I’ve been surprised a lot lately. Go ahead, spring it on me.”
“Russ Schafer.”
Eli was surprised. He’d had Russ pegged as something of a nice-guy, without all the creepy stuff. Or the aversion to taking showers.
“Don’t judge me,” Connie warned. “Or Russ.”
“I’m not,” Eli replied, raising one hand, as if to swear an oath.
“He’s really smart, you know. He’s designed an app that would blow your mind, and he’s negotiating a deal to sell it.”
He had all that fancy equipment, and he’d mentioned coding.
No word of a girlfriend, though.
“So you’re after his money?” Eli teased.
“We’ve been seeing each other for weeks,” Connie said. “I fell for Russ before he told me about the app.”
“It must have been hard for you when we were questioning him about Tiffany Ulbridge,” he ventured.
“It was,” she admitted. “But I knew he was innocent. Russ has been depressed for years—who wouldn’t be, with the upbringing he had?—but he’d never murder anyone. Especially not a blood relative.”
“I’m happy for you, Connie,” Eli said. “I really am.”
“I know. And I’d like to be happy for you, but you seem to have your head up your butt where a certain woman is concerned.”
Eli raised both hands. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to talk about Brynne. It’s personal.”
Connie smiled. “No problem. I’ll just keep an eye on the old thought bubble, see if you come to your senses.”
“Why is it,” Eli asked pointedly, “that everybody in this town seems to think my love life is in the public domain?”
“So you do have a love life. Hallelujah!”
“Connie.”
“All right, all right. I get it. You’re the strong, silent type, keeping your own counsel.”
“My business is just that—my business. Not yours. Not the town’s.”
“Got it,” Connie said, sounding just a touch too perky for Eli’s taste.
Behind him, the coffee machine chortled, releasing a delicious fragrance.
Eli said no more. He retreated to his office and closed the door.
Spent the next twenty minutes rereading the printouts, scouring every email, every post.
Something nibbled at the edge of his mind, just out of reach.
What was it?
What was he missing?
He finally gave up, went back to the front office, poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Why the frown?” Connie asked.
He told her.
There was something there, in the Freddie-Tiffany situation, that he couldn’t get hold of.
“Relax,” Connie said. “Let it come to you.”
That was good advice, Eli supposed.
If only he could follow it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE ART FRENZY lasted until after dark, when Waldo eased through the partially open bedroom door and, purring, curled himself around Brynne’s ankles as if peeling an orange in reverse. His whiskers tickled her bare feet.
He was definitely hungry.
Brynne glanced at her phone, propped on