The next morning came quickly. I'd tossed and turned most of the night trying to figure out how three people fit in one hotel room, but somehow people only saw one person run out. Between the escapee and the dead guy, we were short one shooter.

I used my foot to finish nudging open the door to my brand-new rental and dropped the box I'd lugged from the car into the path of the front door. The place was empty and chilly from the outside temperatures. Katy had rented the two-bedroom place from Pierce for years, but when she moved in with the billionaire, she sublet it to me for a steal. His only condition had been that I lied to everyone in town about what I paid in rent so no one learned of my sweet deal.

A body filled the space behind me in the open doorway before I closed the door.

"Your sidewalk is slippery," Broadrick said as he watched me adjust a box and lug it to the kitchen.

I noticed how he didn't offer to help. "Yeah, well, Pierce said he had his limits." I used my elbow to open a random drawer in the kitchen.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Broadrick asked as he followed me into the space. The kitchen had an old bacon smell to it. I'd have to buy candles or those wall plug-in things.

The home was relatively quiet besides our talking until I tipped the box over and let the contents fall into a drawer in a heap. The spatulas and stirring spoons mixed in with the forks. I'd sort it out later. "He let me keep the cheap rent but isn't paying for the same lawn service he did with Katy."

Katy never raked a leaf or shoveled snow while she lived here. I wasn't sure she understood other people had to do those things. Apparently she thought those perks were normal. Yet, I didn't mind picking up a snow shovel if it meant I got to live across from the ocean for under a thousand a month.

"I'll pick you up a bag of salt from the hardware store this afternoon."

"Don't worry about it. I have a plan," I said, but he'd already left the kitchen.

With my hip, I tried to close the drawer, but too many spatulas were sticking up in every direction. I shoved my hand on top of them and scattered them around with a big shove and swish of my fingers. The drawer still didn't close all the way.

"You've got to be kidding me." I didn't own that many cooking instruments. Normally I ate take-out. With mounting frustration, I snatched a few pieces out of the drawer and tossed them into the one beside it. I'd figure it out later. At least both drawers closed.

Broadrick met me at the entrance to the kitchen, holding a box. It looked small in his hands, but I'd had to fight to get it into my Camaro that morning.

"There's only this box in the car."

"The car's name is Rachel," I said, slipping past him. "She only holds these three boxes. Two in the trunk and one in the backseat." I tried to leave the passenger seat empty for NB-the nickname I'd given Nut Bread, formerly known as Not Brent last night before falling asleep.

"Vonnie, you said you had a plan for this move." Broadrick set the box in the middle of the living room floor. That was not where it belonged.

"Yeah." I gave him a one-eyebrow-raised look and flipped open the box, pulling out the books from inside. "This is the plan."

He stood beside the box, not offering to help unpack it. "You're going to move your whole place with three boxes?"

I stacked the books in the living room's corner, where I planned to put a bookshelf. They leaned a little to the side, so I shoved them against the wall. "That's the plan."

Broadrick spun in a circle with his arms out. If we were at the bow of a boat, he'd get away with a great Leonardo DiCaprio impression. "This house is empty, Von. You can't get it all moved in here by the end of the month."

"Yes, I can," I said, stopping to sniff the wall. Was the bacon smell out there too or was that leftover fresh paint smell? I didn't have any answers after my fifth sniff, so I gave up.

It definitely wasn't fresh paint smell, but it wasn't bacon either. Everything smelled... cold. I would have to turn the heat higher to keep a pipe from bursting or something. Pierce might suffer a brain aneurysm if I flooded his rental.

"Not with only three boxes." Broadrick seemed dead set on starting our day with an argument. Why show up at all if he just wanted to question my life choices? I had my mother for that.

"It's fine, B." I'd made do with less and ended up ahead.

He stopped his dramatic turn to face me as I grabbed another stack of books from the box. The box was heavy when I moved it, but I'd never been so happy to be a Mainer who wasn't in love with Stephen King. The paperback romances weighed way less than his massive tomes.

"So you're going to fit your bed in the two-door Camaro?" he asked, still searching for this argument.

I had to save my energy and couldn't waste any this early in the day on a headstrong SEAL. "No, obviously not."

He nodded like he thought I'd never considered that problem before. I told him I had a plan.

"Katy is going to commandeer Riley's truck to help me get the big stuff."

Broadrick finally looked into the box, but I'd already grabbed all the books. "Steal from Riley, you mean."

I flopped over the flaps of the box and picked it up. On my next break during the day, I'd head back to my current basement apartment-in an old converted home-and fill them up again. "They're BFFs. There's no stealing from a best friend."

Broadrick huffed and jerked his chin out in that hoity way of his that got under my skin. "I'm not sure Riley agrees."

"Well, good thing you don't know everything," I said, tossing the two empty boxes close to the door and grabbing for the third.

It was another box of books, and rather than take the time to stack them up, I dumped the box in the corner with the others in anger. Broadrick's questions sucked all the excitement out of moving, and I wanted to get the task over quickly to prove him wrong.

With my boxes empty, I stacked them in my arms and walked outside, letting Broadrick shut and lock the door behind us.

"Isn't that cold?" I asked with a jerk of my chin to indicate I meant his motorcycle parked in my gravel driveway.

"Not if you don't think about it."

Men.

He watched as I opened the car door and shoved the boxes inside before leaving on his motorcycle once I had everything settled.

Why he thought he could show up, watch me unpack my possessions, and then leave had me questioning his motives. Was he only here to check up on me? He hadn't even tried to kiss me goodbye. That was two times in a row. For a man who refused to believe me when I said I didn't want a relationship with him, he sure gave in quickly with his attempts to win me over.

I narrowed my eyes in the rearview mirror as I backed out and drove toward the bakery. My cell phone rang as I turned onto Main Street, and I had to forget Broadrick's weird behavior long enough to answer the call.

The word Mom flashed across the screen, and I moaned, almost dropping it back into my cup holder. If I didn't answer, she'd continue to call me, which would be even more annoying. She didn't understand voice mails were supposed to be short...or text messages.

"I'm about to start a shift at the bakery. What's up, Mom?" I said in place of a greeting.

I swear I felt her answering sigh through the phone. Like she let out enough air in one breath, it swished the hair by my ear. "You're always busy."

"Yes. That's how I pay bills. Staying busy, solving cases."

She huffed that time, and my hair really moved. I hit the window up button to be safe, but it didn't do anything. "How many cases are you working right now? Nothing dangerous, I hope."

I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn't see. "Only a few right now." I had an ongoing investigation into Pelican Bay's police force and the new dead body, but I couldn't tell my mother about either of those unsanctioned cases. Sylvia Vines did not support my dreams of being a PI.

"A few cases doesn't seem enough to pay the bills," she said as I pulled into the parking lot behind the bakery where I worked part time when I didn't have enough cases to pay bills, which happened more than I'd ever admit-especially to my mother.

"I'd have more cases if my family ever tossed a few my way," I said, laying it on pretty thick. "I heard you sent your friend Mary to therapy for her relationship issues."

"Yes."

I turned the car off. "That good money could have been thrown toward a PI to catch the bastard cheating."

My mother laughed, like the idea of hiring me to nail her friend's husband to the wall was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "That wasn't their problem, Vonnie."

"A good PI can solve every problem."

My mother laughed again. "Mary is upset because John won't put the toilet seat down. Were you going to stake out their bathroom for evidence of the heinous crime?"

"Who fights over something that stupid?" There had to be more to it, but my mother just didn't want to tell me.

"You'd understand if you'd ever had a long-term relationship," she said, and I pictured her fixing her short blonde hair behind her ears like what she'd said was helpful advice and not a dig at my love life.

"Right, well, I've got to go. Muffins to sell, coffee to throw at people."

She gave off another deep sigh, but I cut the call and got out of my car. We were delving into the realm of fighting, which never ended well for either of us.

The back door to the bakery was unlocked, and I slipped inside, leaving my coat on the rack by the door. The ovens were on-as they always were-leaving the kitchen part of the bakery warm. It heated my chilly fingers almost instantly, and I wore a smile by the time I pushed myself through the double doors to the front of the bright pink shop.

Anessa, an always happy brunette, was rearraigning cookies in one of her display cases. She waved as I slid to a stop by the register. Anessa painted every wall pink before she opened the bakery and then bought all the matching accessories. People either loved it or gagged.

"Sorry I'm late. First Broadrick came to the new place and then my mother called," I said, ripping off a strip of old receipt paper and jotting down a few shopping notes for after my shift.

Pearl, a local legend, sat across from the register and tsked her tongue against the roof of her mouth with my apology. People in this town really had to learn to keep their dramatic sighs and other signs of disapproval to themselves.

"What?" I asked when I finished with my list a second later. When it came to Pearl, it was better to jump into the fire and get it over with. She'd tell you what she had to say regardless of how long it took to make you accept it.

The older hippie jerked on the bright blue pants of her velvet track suit-a stark difference from her normally long dresses, but it was cold out there. She flipped her long braid full of different shades of gray behind her back. "It's none of my business."

It never was, but that didn't stop the unsolicited advice.

"I just find it interesting that this Broadrick of yours is apparently in town now, yet we've still never seen him," she continued even though I definitely hadn't asked for her opinion.

"Pearl," Anessa said, lifting her head from the case.

Pearl lifted a shoulder in an answering shrug that stung worse than her comment.

My scowl turned into a tight grin at the person approaching the front door of the bakery. "Maybe that's about to change, Pearl."

Just wait until she got a load of our next customer.