"I'll talk to him," I said.

"Whatever you want." She smiled, and raised the volume on the television. "Let's see what nonsense the world has gotten itself into today."

I decided against a trip to the kitchen and settled back on the bed. Instead I listened to the newscaster tell a story about a rising terror alert in Washington, followed by a report on a killer tornado sweeping the Midwest.

I felt very safe in this bed, in this little town on the Hudson. I closed my eyes, finally feeling a little peace, until I realized I wasn't safe, not even here. The image of Marc's lifeless body filled my mind. Then I saw picture after picture of Ryan standing over Marc, angry and jealous, just hours before Marc was killed.

Even more disturbing was the realization that not only did I probably know the killer, my grandmother may have just invited him to stay.

When night came, I stayed downstairs and shared the bed with my grandmother and Barney. It felt comfortable and warm there, and I didn't want to risk another midnight visit from Ryan, not while I was feeling so unsure about everything. I got up early and walked Barney for longer than he wanted to be walked, then came back to the house and looked for something to do.

I stared at the contents of the refrigerator for several minutes, as if ingredients were going to jump up and make themselves into something delicious. I saw some strawberries and box of blueberries and was ready to have a simple, healthy breakfast of fruit salad when I got a better idea. After searching through my grandmother's recipe cards, I found one for blueberry muffins.

Following it exactly, I mixed the dry ingredients in a bowl that was too small and mixed the milk and eggs in a very large bowl. Then, after carefully checking the recipe to make absolutely sure I was doing it right, I mixed the two together, folded in the fresh blueberries, and had a taste. To my relief, it tasted like muffin batter. I had forgotten to preheat the oven, but by the time I found the muffin tin and poured the batter into the cups, I figured the oven was hot enough. Fifteen minutes later-much to my surprise-I took perfectly baked, moist muffins from the oven and set them down on the table with a pot of coffee. I hesitated, then tore one in half. Steam rose from the middle. It was a creamy beige, with small dots of a purplish blue throughout-just how a blueberry muffin should look. I pinched off a bit and put it in my mouth. A light cake surrounded a pop of blueberry flavor.

"My compliments to the chef," I said out loud to myself.

Ryan staggered sleepily into the kitchen and watched the domestic scene with clear surprise.

"I didn't know you could bake," he said.

"Apparently I can." I smiled, still impressed by my accomplishment. "Have one."

He cautiously took a bite, then greedily ate it all. "These are really good," he praised me with his mouth full of muffin.

I nodded and made a tray of coffee and muffins to take to my grandmother.

Eleanor was up and hobbling around when I walked into the living room.

"I brought you breakfast," I said, and put the tray down on the bed.

She eyed the tray, then picked up a muffin. "It's still warm."

"I followed your recipe."

She took a nibble. "I could not have done a better job myself," she said, paying me her highest compliment. After eating the rest of the muffin, she turned to business. "I've called Jesse's brother-in-law. He'll meet us at the shop at noon."

"Are the police letting us back in?"

"Briefly. But Jesse called me to say the place will be all ours tomorrow."

"So they've found as much as they will find?" I asked.

"I assume, dear. Put some milk in the coffee, will you?"

I did as she asked. "Did Jesse say if he found anything?"

"No." She stopped. "He asked me about a hole in the wall."

"Marc was knocking it down."

"Yes, but there was a deposit bag stuffed in the wall from my bank." She sipped her coffee. "It was empty, but he wanted to know if I knew anything about it."

"Do you?"

"When are you taking your detective's exam?" She peered at me. "No, I don't know anything about it. Most likely it dropped behind the shelves lining that wall."

"And got stuffed into the wall? That doesn't make sense."

"Maybe a very smart mouse wanted a comfortable bed," she said. "I can't see that it has anything to do with Marc, poor boy." She got up and steadied herself on a crutch. "It's after nine. At my speed, it will take the next three hours to get ready."

Her plan was to be bathed and dressed and ready to leave for the shop by eleven-thirty. She had declined any help, other than asking Ryan to put a kitchen chair in the downstairs shower. Whether it took her longer or not, my grandmother was determined not to be, in her words, "a fussy old woman about it."

"I may not be able to do a lot of things," she said, "but I can take care of myself."

"Then you've got me beat by a mile," I sighed.

"Not true. You can sew a nice quilt square and can follow a recipe that makes a darn fine muffin."

"And in 1952, that would be all I needed."

"Yes," she replied, her sarcasm at full volume. "No woman had problems in 1952."

"Take your shower," I said, another battle of wits lost.

She grunted. "Close the door behind you."

Ryan and I waited awkwardly in the kitchen, talking about the tornado in the Midwest, and how, thankfully, it had done little damage and cost no lives. How quickly a relationship goes from intimate chatter to banal chitchat.

When Eleanor was ready, I packed up the car with her crutches and an oversized sewing bag, then settled Barney in the backseat while Ryan helped her to the car.

"I'm going to walk to the shop," Ryan said suddenly as he closed my grandmother's car door.

"You don't need to be there," I said.

"Why not?" interrupted Eleanor. "It will be quite the party. I talked to Nancy this morning and she and the quilt club are heading over for a peek." She was interfering again, but I knew there was no point in making an issue of it.

"I'll bet Jesse will be thrilled," I said as I pulled out of the driveway.

"I think we all need to understand what happened," she said quietly.

"It feels like they all need to gawk. No one is exactly grieving, if you haven't noticed."

She nodded. "I suppose we owe Marc that. I do, especially."

"Why you?"

"He was in my shop, working for me. If I hadn't hired him…"

"He would have been killed somewhere else."

Eleanor turned her head away from me and looked out the window. "Maybe."

As Eleanor predicted, the shop-or at least the street outside it-was getting to be quite a party when we arrived. Susanne and Natalie were looking in the window. Maggie, Bernie and Nancy were exchanging theories on the crime, and Carrie, an ever-present coffee in her hand, was watching Jesse talk to another man.

"Jesse says only the two of you and his brother-in-law are allowed in the shop," Nancy complained as we arrived. "I really think you should insist I be allowed in. I do work there. I am affected by the design."

"I agree," said my grandmother reassuringly, though I doubted she felt she needed Nancy's-or my-presence in the shop.

Jesse nodded at both of us, but, as always, turned his attentions first to Barney. By the time the two were done with their greeting, Ryan was walking to meet us.

"Came by to help?" Jesse asked him.

"Observe, really," Ryan started to say, then looked around to see that all eyes were on him.

"You are Nell's… friend," Maggie said crisply, pausing just enough between "Nell" and "friend" to make it clear to Ryan that everyone present was aware of the entire history of our relationship.