“He’s going to have to modify his gourmet tastes if he hangs around me,” Gwen said. “Buddy, I’d like you to meet Judson Coppersmith. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you,” Buddy said. He stuck out a big hand. “Welcome to Wilby. Sorry it’s such sad circumstances that bring you here.”

Judson shook hands across the counter. “Call me Judson.”

“You bet. Heard Gwen had a friend with her. You’re stayin’ over at the inn?”

“That’s right,” Gwen said. “Trisha has very kindly allowed me to keep Max in my room, but I need some cat litter and food for him. I don’t suppose you know anyone who might like a nice cat?”

“Nope. I’m a dog man, myself. Got a couple of Rottweilers that would probably view Max as a chew toy.”

The Wilby General Store had changed little in the two years that she had been away. The grocery aisles and the small fresh produce section occupied the left-hand side of the premises. Shelves and tables displaying the wares of the local artisans were arranged on the right.

Buddy Poole hadn’t changed, either, she thought. He was a sturdy, stocky man with a bushy gray beard and a receding hairline. He wore a plaid shirt and a pair of pants held up by red suspenders.

“Real shame about poor Evelyn,” Buddy said. He exhaled heavily and shook his head. “We’re all gonna miss her. She was a fixture here in Wilby.” He looked at Gwen. “Heard you were the one who found her body.”

“Word gets around fast,” Gwen said.

“In this town it does. Sorry it had to be you. I know the two of you were friends.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said. “About the cat food, I’ll go with the expensive stuff for now. I think Max has been traumatized enough. You know how cats are when you take them out of their territory.”

“Heard they don’t settle well into new surroundings,” Buddy said. “With dogs, it’s different. Long as they’re with their pack, they’re happy campers.” He bustled around the end of the counter. “You’ll be wanting the wild salmon, then. And fresh eggs. Evelyn always fed him eggs. Got a refrigerator in your room? If not, I’m sure Trisha would let you store a carton of eggs in her kitchen.”

“I’ve got one of those minibar refrigerators,” Gwen said. “There’s enough space for a half-size carton of eggs.”

“We’ll need a can opener, too,” Judson said, “and the cat litter.”

“Aisle three.” Buddy started back toward the counter with a couple of cans of salmon and the eggs.

Two people, clearly summer visitors, not locals, ambled into the store. The subtle draft created by the opening and closing of the front door sent a faint shiver of all-too-familiar music through the atmosphere. The melancholy sound iced the back of Gwen’s neck. She knew that from now on whenever she heard wind chimes, the image of Evelyn’s body lying on the carpet would drift like a ghost through her thoughts.

She saw that Judson was studying the small display of crystal wind chimes suspended from the ceiling.

“Sell a lot of those?” he asked Buddy.

“Sure do,” Buddy said. He set the cans of salmon on the counter. “Local lady named Louise Fuller makes ’em. Very popular with the tourists. Just about everyone around here has one of her little musical sculptures hanging on the front porch or somewhere inside the house. Couple of other craftspeople in Wilby make chimes, but no one makes ’em the way Louise does. The sound is unique. I sell a lot of ’em at the crafts fairs, too.”

“You’re still doing the crafts fair circuit?” Gwen asked.

“Oh, sure.” Buddy punched in numbers on the antique cash register. “I try to hit five or six a year. Lot of the craftspeople and artists here depend on the cash I bring back from those fairs. Nicole, the florist, looks after my dogs when I’m gone. You remember Nicole Hudson, Gwen?”

“I remember her,” Gwen said.

Buddy winced. “Sorry. Forgot that you and Nicole had some words after what happened out at the falls a couple of years ago.” He cleared his throat and looked up from the cash register. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” Judson said. He fished out his wallet and put some cash on the counter.

“Wait,” Gwen said. “I was going to pay for those things.”

“We’ll settle up later,” Judson promised.

Buddy slipped the money into the till and handed back some change. He looked at Gwen above the rims of his glasses. “Don’t want to get personal, but people are saying that Oxley gave you a hard time because of what happened to Evelyn.”

“I think it’s safe to say that Chief Oxley would prefer that I leave town as soon as possible,” Gwen said. “And he’s not the only one. But it’s going to take a while to decide what to do with Evelyn’s house and her old lab.”

Buddy’s bushy brows bounced up and down a couple of times. “Also heard that the television guy Evelyn used to do some work for is back. Any idea why he’s hanging around?”

“He’s looking for more ideas for his show,” Gwen said, deliberately vague. “He left town a short time ago.” She collected the sack of cat litter, food and eggs. “Thanks, Buddy.”

“You bet.” Buddy exhaled. “Just so damn sad about Evelyn. Really gonna miss her.”

“So will I,” Gwen said.

Evelyn’s small house was huddled in the trees at the end of the road. The windows were dark, just as they had been that morning when Gwen arrived. She felt the hair lift again on the nape of her neck. A shiver went through her.

Judson eased the SUV to a stop in the drive. He sat quietly for a moment, studying the house. Energy shifted in the atmosphere. The stone in his ring heated a little.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” she said.

He did not ask her for an explanation.

“Like a shadow over the house,” he said. “You just know something bad happened inside.”

“I knew this morning when I got here, before I even opened the door,” Gwen said.

“Yeah, it usually hits me that way, too.” He paused. “But only if serious violence was involved.”

“Same with me.” She did not take her eyes off the house. “But at least in your business you get to do something constructive. You find justice for the victims.”

“I hate to disillusion you, but most of my consulting work is—was—done for an intelligence agency. Justice wasn’t the objective.”

“What was the objective?”

“Information. I’m good at gathering that.”

She turned her head and gave him a disturbingly insightful look. “But you don’t find it very satisfying, do you?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes I think Mom was right. I should have joined the FBI.”

“So that you could hunt bad guys? But you don’t like to take orders or work as a member of a team. You and the FBI would not have been a good fit.”

“No.” He paused, frowning. “Did Sam tell you about my preference for working alone?”

“No.”

Judson’s irritation was palpable. “You can read that kind of personality trait in an aura?”

“I didn’t get that information from your aura.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. “Five minutes in your company was more than enough to reveal that aspect of your character, believe me.”

She jumped down and slammed the car door a little harder than was necessary.

JUDSON CRACKED OPEN the driver’s-side door and got out. Together they went up the steps, crossed the porch and stopped at the door.

He watched her take the key out of her tote. When she got the door open, he moved into the front hall ahead of her. Energy whispered in the atmosphere, cold and intense. She knew that he had heightened his talent.

“The electricity is still on,” she said. She stepped into the hall behind him and flipped a switch, illuminating the small space. “No need to work in the dark.”

“Which way?”

“Down the hall to your right.”

Judson moved along the hallway. “What happened to the Ballinger study?”