Since I was doing little but stir up small-town controversy, I slowly headed toward the door. The shop was getting busy. People were coming in alone and in groups. Mostly women but some men. Some of them had fabric swatches or books to reference. Some seemed focused, heading right toward a section or a color. Others wandered around, pulling fabrics here and there, waiting to fall in love with something. Everyone seemed filled with anticipation and creativity, and rather than sit on the sidelines, I decided to leave.

"I'm heading to the house," I called back to my grandmother.

"Barney will want a walk," she called back.

Carrie's little boy beat me to the front door, with a frustrated Carrie, her daughter in her arms, following closely behind. I grabbed the little boy before he could make it into the street.

"I used to be a vice president." Carrie shook her head. "On Wall Street. I thought I could handle anything." She nodded toward her children, running in circles around her.

"They're lively. Kids are supposed to be lively," I said as her son jumped up into the backseat of Carrie's car, stepping over her daughter to do it.

"I guess," she sighed, and opened her car for the kids to climb in. I turned to leave. "It's a good idea, your idea to expand the shop," Carrie said almost shyly.

"She could use the space." I hesitated. "But I feel bad if you had plans for the diner yourself."

"No, not plans. I just was talking about it with someone… Marc… you know Marc."

"Yes. He's helping my grandmother."

"He's great, isn't he? Just so many ideas," she practically gushed. "He's really very talented… in so many areas."

"Like your kids." I pointed to the two children climbing over the backseat into the driver's seat.

"Oh, God," she said as she reached into the back of her car, doing her best to restore order.

I crossed the street and found myself in front of the town bakery. A familiar-looking man with glasses and a serious expression was holding the hand of a small girl. The child, maybe five years old, was happily struggling to fit a giant chocolate chip cookie into her small mouth. Several times he leaned down and patiently wiped the chocolate chip stains from her face.

I was almost on top of them before I recognized him.

"Officer…," I started.

"Jesse… Dewalt." He stood up and smiled a little, but just a little. "This is my daughter, Allison."

For just a second it seemed strange that he was a father. But I reminded myself that I didn't know anything about this man, except that Barney liked him. The fact that he was quiet and sullen didn't mean some woman couldn't have fallen head over heels for him.

I waved to Allison. "It's a good day for a cookie," I said to her. And since her mouth was full, she just nodded.

"She thinks every day is a good day, but we try to save it for a Saturday afternoon treat, right kid?" Allison looked up and laughed at her father, and he laughed back. The delight he took in her lit up his face, and I suddenly was struck by how handsome he was.

"Well," I said, feeling a little awkward, "I should be heading back to my grandmother's."

I started to turn before Jesse spoke. "How long are you staying?"

"Until tomorrow."

Allison tugged at his hand, but he kept his eyes on me. "You should come up more often," he said. "I know Eleanor would love it."

"Maybe I should," I said. And for the first time when I smiled at him, he smiled back. "I'll let you guys get back to your Saturday." I looked down at Allison, whose face was now covered with chocolate. "But I'd clean her up before you head back to your wife."

When I looked back at Jesse, his smile had faded. I nodded good-bye and turned toward my grandmother's, leaving the serious man to the not-so-serious task of keeping a little girl from dropping her cookie.

It seemed like just the sort of crime prevention a cop in Archers Rest would be qualified for.

When I got to the house, Marc's truck was out front and he was putting up the ladder. He was wearing a flannel shirt, and I was, as embarrassing as this is to admit, a little disappointed not to find him bare-chested again.

"Hey there, granddaughter," he waved.

"Nell," I said.

"Marc." He smiled a dangerously cute smile. "Eleanor at the shop?"

"Yes. I can call over there if you want."

"No." He picked up a heavy load of roofing tiles. "It's just she usually makes me something to eat when I'm working for her. And she's a good cook."

"Sorry. I'd offer, but you don't want my cooking."

He smiled and looked at me. Not stared, exactly, but looked long enough to be studying me. It was a look of confidence, bordering on arrogance. But there was also something sad that betrayed the cool guy persona he was trying so hard to achieve. A bad boy with a touch of wounded puppy.

Suddenly I was self-conscious. "I should get inside," I said.

The spell was broken. He looked away. It seemed like he blushed, but maybe he was just sweaty from the work he'd been doing. In any case, he nodded and turned away.

Barney greeted me with the usual excitement, for which he got two of his favorite doggy cookies. I let him out in the yard and he wandered out of sight, likely down to the river. I sat waiting for him to return, but ten minutes went by and then twenty. No Barney.

A cloud moved over the sun and suddenly it turned the afternoon chilly and gray. I walked in the direction Barney had gone but there was no sight of him, just a few squirrels who scrambled up trees as I came close.

"Barney," I called out. Nothing. "Barney," I said a little more insistently this time. Still nothing.

I veered off the path I usually took to the edge of my grandmother's property and started toward the thicket of trees that we romantically called the "black forest." Although there were only a few dozen trees, they were old and even as they dropped their leaves, they still blocked out most of the darkening sky.

"Barney," I practically screamed.

There were more than five acres of property, but Barney was lazy. He wouldn't have wandered around. He would have done his business and come back to the house, knowing dinner was waiting for him.

"Barney," I finally screamed.

I heard rustling behind me and spun around. I saw nothing.

A storm was now brewing in an ever-darkening sky, and I hadn't brought a flashlight with me. With the tall trees and the encroaching evening, I felt blackness descend around me.

"Barney," I called toward the rustling. I could hear a slight panic in my voice. Even though I knew it had to be the squirrels, a small voice inside me said it didn't sound like squirrels. I was momentarilyfrozen, staring at the spot where I heard the sound. I wasn't sure whether I was scared that something had happened to the dog or was about to happen to me.

"Nothing happens in this town," I told myself. "Good or bad."

With common sense taking the lead, I turned back toward the house. I would give Barney an hour to get hungry and come home, and if he hadn't, I'd come back out with a flashlight.

I took a dozen steps and heard a sound behind me. It was more than just rustling leaves. It was footsteps. I clenched my fist into a pathetic attempt at a weapon and turned.

"Who is that?"

Nothing.

"Who is that?"

"Hey," a male voice came from the other direction.

"Marc?"

"Yeah, you okay?"

I was, I guess. "I thought someone was behind me."

Marc came toward me. "I saw. You were about to do battle with a vicious squirrel. Or maybe a bunny." I turned and saw a squirrel rustling in the leaves before it scampered up a tree. Marc started laughing and I turned every shade of red from light pink to brick.