Mom handed me a plate on a tray along with a small pot of tea. When I raised an eyebrow, she tsked softly, irritated.

"Jill might be taking things seriously, as she should," she said, "but poor Frieda can at least have some dinner while she's accused of murder."

Right, I'd forgotten all about the gun shop and hunting lodge owner who we'd caught sneaking around. We'd all eaten ages ago, the time now well past 7PM and the majority of the day wasted on Jill's ...