I DIDN’T TELL HIMALLABOUT IT-NOT IN DETAIL, anyway. I mean, what would that have accomplished, aside from making me look pathetic?

Instead, I munched a burger and gave Jim the Reader’s Digest Condensed version of my marriage. Happily ever after until Dry Cleaner Girl came along.

“And since?”

Jim’s question came just as I was putting a French fry in my mouth. I held up a finger, chewed, and swallowed before I answered. “And since, what? That’s all there is to it.”

“And you don’t want to get married again?”

I’d considered the question myself a time or two. Honest, I had. I just never expected to hear it from Jim. “I’m not ready,” I told him. “I’m not even ready to think about being ready.”

“But it’s been more than a year.”

I shrugged and took a sip of wine. My second glass. “I thought it would last forever.” A new thought occured to me. “Are you-”

“Married?” Jim wrinkled his nose. “No, and never have been. Not that lucky.” From most guys, the answer would have been nothing short of facetious. But Jim meant it. Don’t ask me how I knew-I just did. “Never have met the right woman. And besides, what they call the hospitality services industry… well, it doesn’t leave much time for a social life.”

“You’re lucky when it comes to your job, though,” I told him. “You’re a great teacher, and I can tell that you really love what you do for a living.”

“And you don’t?”

He had a way of asking open-ended questions. From anyone else, I would have considered it prying. From Jim it was honest concern.

“I work at a bank,” I told him. “I’m a teller. I’ve been a teller since I graduated from high school. It’s a good job, but-”

“But you’re not happy.”

“I didn’t say that.” I dabbed some ketchup from my mouth with a napkin. “I’m very good at what I do.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

“It’s a good place to work. I’ve got benefits and a dependable paycheck.”

“And you like that.”

“It’s secure.”

“But it’s boring.”

I stared at my burger for a moment. Were my words telegraphing thoughts I’d never allowed myself to even consider?

Being a bank teller was what I did, end of story. Until now, I’d never entertained the thought of doing anything else.

“I admit that I’ve been feeling a little restless,” I told Jim. “But I don’t really like to talk about it-bad luck, or bad karma, or whatever you call it. And I don’t know why I’m talking about it now. It’s not like I’m dissatisfied.”

“But there has to be more.”

“Are you looking for more, too?”

He sat back, obviously surprised that I’d turned the tables on him. He toasted me with his beer glass. “If I don’t get away from whacky Monsieur Lavoie sometime very soon, there may be another homicide at Très Bonne Cuisine.”

I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh. “He’s odd.”

“Tell me about it.” His sigh was nothing short of dramatic. “It’s a good job. Like yours.” He grinned. “But it isn’t what I want to do. Not really. What I really want…”

He pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. “I want my own place. My own restaurant. I have an uncle with a place over in Alexandria. Mum’s oldest brother, Angus. It’s not exactly the kind of place I’d like for my own, but he has been an inspiration to me. In my place…” Jim tipped his head back, and from the smile on his face, I could tell he was picturing every little detail of his dream. “Something upscale, but not so expensive that it’s out of reach of folks who want a special experience for special occasions. Something trendy, but not so trendy that once the newness wears off, the place empties out. I want to showcase really fine cooking using all the best, freshest ingredients.”

I nodded, taking a moment to think about the idea. I’d heard restaurant work was brutal. I suspected it cost a fortune to open a place, too.

Jim must have been reading my mind. “I’ve been saving,” he said. “And working on a solid business plan so I can get a bank loan. Every time I think I’m finally close, real estate prices skyrocket. It’s always out of reach.”

“Which explains Très Bonne Cuisine.”

He nodded. “But it doesn’t explain…” He paused, and I could tell he was wondering if he should say any more. “Have you noticed anything odd about Lavoie?”

“Anything?” It was my turn to laugh. “Where do you want to start?”

“I think he’s up to something.” Jim took the last bite of his roast beef sandwich and brushed crumbs from his hands. “I don’t know what it is, but it makes me wonder about the man.”

“Maybe he’s the one who killed Drago?”

I thought Jim would meet the suggestion with laughter. Instead, he looked at me hard. “I’ve considered the possibility,” he said. “After all, Lavoie was still in the shop when I left that evening. That means he must have been there around the time that Drago was killed.”

“That gives him opportunity but not motive. At least not any motive that we know about.” As if it could help order my thoughts, I shook my head. “Of course, if Beyla has motive, we haven’t found that, either. We know she’s lying, though. That seems pretty important. And we know she’s carrying around some kind of herb that might be foxglove. Maybe we need to make another trip over to Arta and see if Yuri can tell us anything useful.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Jim’s question stopped me cold. “I mean, it’s fun to sit here and speculate. It’s a fine game to play with friends over a couple drinks. But you and Eve, you’ve taken it to another level. It worries me that you sound as if you’re actually enjoying it.”

“No, not enjoying. But it’s a puzzle, and all the pieces aren’t in place. I’d like to get them sorted out, that’s all. I’d like to figure out how everything fits together.”

“I can understand that. Only, Annie…” Jim reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. A man has already died.”

“And you think-”

“I don’t think it, I know it. Remember, your stove exploded. I thought it was an accident until right this very moment. Now I’m not so sure. In light of everything you’ve told me, I can’t help but think you’re onto something. And somebody doesn’t like it.”

“Really?” Honestly, I hadn’t thought we were that close to solving the murder. Now, thinking that we might be close, I felt a rush of adrenaline “Maybe I’m a pretty good detective after all.” I couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across my face.

But why didn’t Jim look as excited as I felt?

He slid out of the booth. The next thing I knew, he was sitting next to me. He grabbed both my hands and looked me in the eye. “You must promise me something, Annie,” he said.

Promise?

At that point, I would have promised anything. The sun. The moon. The stars. When Jim looked at me that way, no way I could refuse him anything.

I swallowed hard, schooling my voice and forcing another smile. “What is it you want?”

“Promise me you’ll stop investigating. Right now. It’s too dangerous.”

“But-”

“No. That’s not good enough. No excuses. Annie, there are professionals who take care of these things. You do your job and you let them do theirs. It’s too dangerous.”

The cautious part of me knew he was right. But I couldn’t get something he said out of my head.

My job.

Do my job.

My boring, go-to-the-bank-every-day job.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem like enough anymore.

“You’re right,” I told Jim. I slid my hand out from his so that I could take a drink of my wine. But when I was done, I didn’t put my hand back on the table. I placed it on my lap.

“It is too dangerous. And we’re not being careful enough. I promise,” I said. “No more investigating.”

Jim smiled.

Good thing he didn’t see that in my lap, my fingers were crossed.