“They should call it slow food,” Grace said.

“That’s dumb,” Will said. “It’s called fast because you pull up, you order, they make it and you pay for it and you drive away. It’s not like when we’re at home and we have to wait forever for Mom to make dinner.”

That got my attention. “Forever? Really?”

“Well, yeah. Sometimes, I’m starving. But if dinner is in two hours, then it’s not fast. But if I drive over here, then it’s fast because I can get it right away.”

“We don’t even have our food yet,” Grace said, frowning in his direction. “So I hope you’re not starving now. Because this is not fast.”

“Fast would be if you ordered French fries and they just handed them to you,” Sophie said. “Before you even paid.”

“Oh whatever,” Will said, leaning his head back. “You don’t even get what I’m saying.”

“Yes we do,” Grace answered. “You’re saying you don’t know the difference between fast and slow.”

She and Sophie high-fived and Will just shook his head.

I smiled. Their conversation had been nonsensical and almost pointless, and I’d loved every second of it. It felt to me like I hadn’t been privy to many of these kinds of conversations lately, the kinds of conversations that were only possible if you were siblings, determined to win an insignificant argument while demonstrating your superior knowledge. They weren’t important and they weren’t life-changing, but they were a part of our daily life and I’d missed them. I loved to hear their bantering and serve as referee when necessary.

My smile disappeared. I knew why I’d missed out on them – and it wasn’t because they’d all magically gotten along for the past few days. I’d missed out because I’d been caught up with the Bandersands and Amanda Pendleton and the play program and a whole lot of other things that weren’t nearly as much fun as my kids.

The drive-thru clerk came back to the window and handed me the smoothies first, then the bag of fries. I passed them back to the kids and pulled away from the window.

“Thanks for the not-so-fast food!” Grace yelled.

“Thank you,” I murmured, turning up the radio.

I was the one who had something to be thankful for.

I’d realized where I needed to be and what I needed to be doing.

And it didn’t involved solving mysteries or getting licenses.

THIRTY FIVE

“I couldn’t ask Jake to take me,” Emily said. “That would be horrible!”

“Why? Do you think he doesn’t know what periods are?”

“Mom!” She looked at me as if I’d just handed her a dead squirrel. “Gross!”

We’d gotten home from the cheer competition and the fast food place and she’d immediately sidled up to me, telling me that we had to go to the drug store immediately because she was out of “girl things.”

“It’s not gross,” I said, pulling into the parking lot of Moose River Drug Emporium. “It’s natural. Everyone has to deal with it. It’s the body—”

“Oh God, seriously, stop,” Emily said, holding up her hand as if it were a shield that might protect her from my words. “You’ve said it to me a hundred times and it’s still gross, okay?”

“All I’m saying is that Jake would’ve been happy to bring you over here,” I told her. “He’s bought mine for me at the store before.”

She moved her hand away from her face. “Seriously?”

“Of course.”

“That must’ve been terrible for him.”

I found a parking spot near the door and killed the engine. “Yes, how terrible for him to have a normal wife.”

“Normal,” she repeated. I didn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice. “That’s funny.”

Moose River Drug Emporium was a good way to step back into the past. It was the kind of combination pharmacy- Hallmark-dry goods store that used to be on every Main Street in America. They’d been phased out by the Walgreens and Wal-Marts, but somehow, the Emporium had persevered. It wasn’t always the cheapest place to buy things, but it was close to the house and I didn’t mind spending a little more at a local, independent business. Most of the town felt that way, as it wasn’t uncommon to run into someone you knew while shopping.

“I hope we don’t see anyone we know,” Emily said as the little bell chimed on the inside of the door.

We found the personal care aisle and just as Emily reached for what she wanted, a voice said, “Well, hello Daisy!”

Emily froze and I turned to see who it was.

Olga Stunderson was in the middle of the aisle, smiling at us. We’d met under less than ideal circumstances – her brother’s body had been found in the basement of our home – but after a bumpy beginning when she’d thought I’d murdered him, we’d become friends.

“It’s been awhile,” she said. “How are you?”

“Just fine, Olga,” I said. “How are you?”

I looked her up and down. She’d dyed her hair a dark shade of burgundy and looked like she’d lost a few pounds.

“I’m good, I’m good,” she said. She held up the shopping basket she was holding. “Just here to pick up a little make-up. My machine isn’t working and I’ve got a body waiting.”

“A body?” Emily asked, her hand now down at her side so no one would know why we were standing in the personal care aisle.

“Olga runs the mortuary,” I reminded her.

“Oh, I don’t run it,” Olga said, grinning. “I just make everyone look pretty. You know, for their final destination.”

Emily’s expression was one of horror. “You’re putting make-up on… a dead body?”

“Technically, just on a dead face,” Olga said, nodding. “But, yeah. Jean Blundergood. Passed two days ago. She was ninety-one.”

“So you put it on her…” Emily glanced at the contents of Olga’s basket. “... after she’s dead?”

“Well, she didn’t ask me to do her make-up before she died,” Olga said, chuckling.

Emily’s face paled.

“And I see you’re here for some lady products,” Olga said. She reached out to see what Emily was buying but she thrust her hand behind her back. “What an exciting time to be a young lady!”

“I want to die,” Emily whispered. “Right here.”

She spoke softly but Olga heard her. “At least I’ll be here to do your make-up if you do!”

“I wondered if we might see you over at the play,” I said to Olga, trying to change the subject and buy Emily a little time to recover her lost dignity. “Doing make-up or something.”

I’d heard that she helped out with some of the local theater productions, as time allowed. Jake and I had both wondered if ‘time allowed’ was code for number of clients she had waiting in the mortuary.

She looked baffled for a moment, and then it cleared, replaced by recognition. “Oh, the Snow White production, right? Normally, I’d be happy to help out. But, um, Eleanor and I don’t get along so well, so I didn’t even bother to volunteer my services anymore.”

This was news to me, although I couldn’t say I was surprised. “You don’t get along?”

“She hired me once to do her daughter’s make-up for an audition down in Minneapolis,” Olga said. Her small eyes widened a fraction. “Her daughter didn’t get the part and she decided my work was the reason she didn’t get a callback. She came to me and wanted a refund. I asked for some sort of proof that the make-up was the problem and she just got nasty about it.” She smiled. “I told her I had a no refund policy. She didn’t take too kindly to that, and we haven’t really spoken since.”

That sounded very much like Eleanor.

“Which is a shame,” Olga said. “Because I really do like kids.” Her gaze drifted to Emily. “Are yours in the play?”

“The two younger girls,” I said.

“Oh, fun,” she said. Then her smile dimmed. “Well, I guess it hasn’t been all fun. I heard about the Pendleton girl.”

“Yes, it’s been a bit...challenging.”

“I’m sure,” Olga said. She shifted the basket to her other hand. “The girl hasn’t come back?’

I shook my head.

“A shame,” Olga said. “But, you know, not like this is the first time.”