I rolled to a stop at the stop sign and stared at the office. I could see some movement behind the large glass window in the front, so they were apparently open. I knew that if Jake was with me, he would've told me to move my eyes back to the road and head back to Windy Vista, that there was nothing to be gained by sticking my nose further into something that wasn't really any of my business.

A car behind me honked and I made my decision.

I turned left into the parking lot.

The cold, hard truth was that Jake wasn't with me and maybe, just maybe I might see some vacation property that we might be interested in buying the day we won the Powerball.

A tiny bell jingled against the door as I stepped into the office. The interior matched the exterior, with exposed, knotted logs making up the walls. A large mounted moose head stared serenely at me and a bearskin rug was positioned right in front of a small wood stove that, thankfully, was not lit. There were two desks occupying the cozy space along with several cushioned chairs for guests. The desk to my left, a neat work space, was unoccupied. The one to my right was not.

A short, round man was stuffing his face with an enormous sandwich. It smelled like sauerkraut and meat. His yellow golf shirt was open at the neck, providing an unappetizing view of a rug of chest hair. Wisps of blond hair combed straight back on his round head were held in place by some sort of pomade that made the hair shine like new shoes. Reading glasses were perched on the end of his pointed nose and a small dollop of mayo dotted the center of the left lens.

He pulled the sandwich from his mouth as soon as I walked in and set it down on the white paper on his desk top. He grabbed a napkin, wiped hard at his hands and mouth, then cleaned the condiment-heavy lens. He pushed back from the desk and stood up.

“Morning, ma'am,” he said, smiling, still licking his lips. “What brings you in here this fine summer morning?”

A murder, I thought.

His eyes roved over me, taking stock of my net worth as he mentally calculated the cost of my outfit and the simple black purse I was carrying. They lingered on my left hand, flickering over the diamond wedding ring I wore.

“Uh, well my husband and I are here on vacation and we were thinking about maybe purchasing something permanently,” I said quickly, which I thought was pretty good for having to come up with something on the fly.

He lifted his eyes back to mine. “Then you've come to the right place,” he said, his smile widening. He offered his hand. “I'm Davis Ellington and I can find you your lake home.”

I shook his hand and took in his words, which sounded like they were coming right off the radio. Actually, I was sure I'd heard a commercial for his business on our drive from the airport. “Daisy Savage.”

“Miss Savage, a pleasure.” He waved a hand theatrically over the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat and let's see what we can find for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. I held up the hand he'd been openly staring at only a minute earlier. “And it's Mrs.”

He raised an eyebrow as he returned to his own seat. “Mrs., you say? And where is the mister?”

“Taking a nap, would be my guess,” I said. “I was just in town shopping and stopped in on a lark.”

He fitted himself into his chair. “Well, naps are a great thing. Wish I got more of them.” He winked. “So are you here on vacation?”

“We are,” I said, deliberately not naming our place of stay as he'd undoubtedly heard about Harvey. “Just for a few days.”

“Couldn't pick a nicer place in Minnesota,” he said, still smiling. “So tell me. What exactly might you and your husband be looking for?”

I was a terrible liar. My stomach was in knots and beads of sweat dotted the back of my neck. “Well, we have four kids. They aren't here this week, but they'd be with us. If we had a vacation home, I mean.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “Four children? My goodness. I guess he does a little more in the bedroom than take naps. If you know what I mean.” He chuckled at his own inappropriate joke. “Well. So you'll be needing some significant square footage. At least five bedrooms.”

We didn't even have five bedrooms in the house in Moose River. “Well, I don't know—”

“Probably something with a large deck,” he continued, licking his finger and paging through something that looked like a small phone book next to his half-eaten sandwich. “And you'd want it close to the lake so everyone could walk as opposed to loading up a vehicle.” He cut his eyes from the phone book thing to me. “And what line of work are you and your husband in?”

“I stay at home with our kids,” I said. “Jake works for the recycling plant in our town.”

Ellington licked his lips and some of his enthusiasm deflated. “I see. And do you own your primary residence?”

“We do,” I said.

“How long have you been there?”

“A little over a year.”

His fingers slowed through the pages. “So perhaps something a bit...smaller.”

I could tell I was losing him. He'd been hoping I was some big spender and I'd suddenly turned into nothing more than a lookie-loo, the scourge of realtors everywhere. I needed to get his attention again.

“We're actually staying up at Windy Vista,” I said.

He paused for just a moment, then kept flipping the pages. “Is that right? I heard about all the trouble up there. A shame about Harvey.”

“Did you know him?”

“I did,” he said, again licking the tip of his index finger. “A genuinely nice young man with his heart in the right place. His brain, however, wasn't always along for the ride.”

“What do you mean?”

Ellington folded his hands together and gave me a tight smile. “The boy had big visions of trying to help Delilah. But he really had no idea about how to get it done. Or that it would be virtually impossible.”

“Impossible?” I asked. “Why's that?”

His smile was condescending. “It's...complicated.”

I bristled a little at his suggestion that I wouldn't be capable of wrapping my tiny, female brain around his big words.

“Try me,” I suggested.

He cleared his throat. “Money makes the world go 'round, Mrs. Savage,” he said, as if this was some big revelation. “And both Harvey and Delilah were in short supply of it, unfortunately. Their dreams were bigger than their bank accounts and they had a...difficult time acknowledging that.”

He couldn't have been any more vague. He cocked his head to one side, studying me. “Are you enjoying Windy Vista?” Ellington asked. “I mean, with the exception of all the excitement this week.”

“We are,” I said. “It's a very nice place.”

“It is indeed,” Ellington said. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands off the desk, folding them across his paunch. “Let me ask you this, then. Would it be a place you'd be interested in purchasing a second home?”

“I thought the lots were for rent, not for sale.”

“I'll get to that,” he said.

I thought for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I'm not sure. The mobile home we're staying in is very nice but we might be interested in something a little more permanent. Like, a real house.”

He smiled. “I understand that. But let's say there was the chance to buy some permanent property there near the resort. Would that be of interest to you?”

I wasn't sure where he was going, but I played along. “I think so, yes. We'd be looking at this house as an investment as well.”

It was almost as if I could see his ears lift at the word investment. His eyes lit up from behind his glasses and I felt a little guilty for spinning our conversation in a direction that was decidedly untrue.

“So then perhaps something larger might be appropriate?” he said, as much to himself as to me. “You know, for grandkids and family gatherings and such. The community does stay open even in winter, so it would be available to you year-round.”