"How early are we?" Tony asked as we found two chairs in the back of the room at Mick's funeral.

The place was eerily quiet except for the shrill cries of the woman seated in the front row. I attempted to plug my right ear with my shoulder so not to be rude, but it didn't stop the noises from making it to my brain.

"We're fifteen minutes late," I replied. It wasn't polite to arrive at a funeral on time. I'm pretty sure I heard that somewhere.

The funeral home had six rows of seats in front of our row, and each one had at least ten chairs.

The crying slowed and then, with a fresh breath, a wail cut through the spacious room. Three people sat together in a small group in the first row. The rest of the padded brown chairs were empty. Five feet in front of them, two flower arrangements sat next to the closed casket.

Tony scanned the room and counted the occupants on his hand. Five. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

I shrugged. We were definitely at the main funeral. They'd only had one thirty-minute open viewing the night before and I doubted there'd been a rush in the door at that either.

The woman in the room's front-Mick's widow, from her profile-set into a deep moaning cry. Frasier, the man to her left, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She laid her head on his shoulders and his body shook with the force of each of her cries.

"A bit much," I whispered to Tony, leaning into him so as not to be heard.

Samantha Darcy jerked in Frasier's arms and then dropped to her knees in front of her chair. The third person in their party, her son Eric, stood from his seat, took one look at his mother with a tilted head and then stormed from the room. The side door he escaped from shut with a thunderous bang on his way out.

"You'd think at least the receptionist might have attended." Tony adjusted his seat, and the chair squeaked, but thankfully no one turned around to check the noise. He'd been as shocked as me when I told him about the receptionist.

"There's nothing for us to gain from this," I said, doing my best not to move so I didn't cause my chair to alert anyone to our presence.

Tony pointed at Samantha on the floor. "I don't care about her alibi. She did it."

"The overacting?"

"You caught it, too?" he asked with a nod.

"Mick caught it, and he's the dead guy in the room."

You'd have to be dumb to miss it. No one cried that long or hard without sheer willpower in getting the job done. She didn't even have an audience.

"You have to figure out how she pulled it off," Tony said in not a whisper.

Frasier dropped next to Samantha on the floor and wrapped his arm around her again. The two of them were in their own world.

"Let's go before they notice us," I said. Being in the room with them gave me the creeps the longer we stayed. Like we were intruding on a private moment.

We stood together, and I led the way from the row. Tony reached the door before me-those damn long legs-and he held it open. We snuck out together without speaking until we hit the main exit door.

"That was weird," Tony said.

I nodded. "And we're not even in Pelican Bay."

The outside door opened and a man wearing a tan trench coat entered.

"Anderson," I said in a greeting as he came inside.

He jerked back and his eyes widened at seeing Tony and me. "Vines. What's it like in there?"

"Dead," I said and then added. "You're in for a real treat."

Tony leaned forward in our little circle. "The wife did it."

"Hey!" I hit Tony on the shoulder. "That's my lead."

He couldn't be giving out the good stuff to Anderson like that. The cops already had all the advantages. Anderson didn't need more help.

"Princess," Tony said with an almost Southern drawl. "He's going to take one look in that room and figure it out."

"I can't wait." Anderson shoved his hand in his pocket. "Oh, and by the way, the glove belonged to one of the construction workers from your ceiling job."

Damn it.

We watched his back as he walked into the room, the door closing and blocking the view.

"It's always an adventure," I said at the closed door.

Tony snorted. "That's one way to describe it. Let's go."

**

He dropped me off at home, choosing to stop on the street rather than pull into the driveway when he saw the spectacle taking place in my front yard.

Broadrick waved to Tony as he drove away, and I stayed on the sidewalk assessing the situation.

"What are the neighbors going to say?" I asked Broadrick, as I finally gained the courage to approach.

He laughed and let Mr. Jasper lead him by his harness to a fresh patch of grass. The bunny yanked the light green stems from the ground and chewed. "I'm sure this will make the gossip pages."

"Probably." They'd take a picture and put it in the Facebook group. It's what I'd do. "What are you doing?"

Mr. Jasper took three jumps forward to destroy a different patch of grass deeper in the yard. Broadrick walked with him, keeping slack in the cord connected to the bunny's blue harness.

"Your mother came by. She said he needs natural treats. You don't get more natural than the front yard." Broadrick smiled as Mr. Jasper pulled him another two feet.

He taste-tested a few blades of grass and then tried for better options to his left.

I walked to stand beside him. The air was growing chilly as it drew closer to night, but I still had lots to do. "We're horrible bunny parents."

We both nodded as Mr. Jasper scratched his ear with his back paw. "That's because I'm not a bunny parent. I have a dog."

"You have half a dog." NB was my dog first. Just because Broadrick bribed him with treats didn't mean he loved him more.

"Did you see your car is out of gas again?" Broadrick asked, glancing at my black Camero in the driveway.

Why did he think I made Tony drive to the funeral? It'd been mostly out of gas since this morning.

"We'll have to fill it later. I need to run to my aunt's before Richard gets home from work."

Thankfully, they kept the support staff longer in the day than the teachers. He had to work until five. Something I heard about every holiday.

Broadrick scooped up Mr. Jasper when he reached a small dead patch of grass and placed him in a better selection between us. "You only have twenty miles until empty."

"I only need ten," I said with a smile. Even ten was total overkill since they lived in Pelican Bay. I'd probably only use two gallons of gas and that's if I stayed at a stop sign too long.

Mr. Jasper jumped toward the house as I backed out of the driveway. Apparently, he'd had enough fresh treats. I rocked out to White Snake on the short drive to my aunt and uncle's home. Broadrick liked to change my radio stations when he drove, and I'd secretively enjoyed some of his oldies.

He'd also have a heart attack if he knew I called them oldies.

Aunt Claire opened the door with a smile until she saw it was me, and her lips slipped. She sucked in a breath and placed a hand on her chest. "Vonnie, I see you've come to deliver the bad news."

She let me into the house and walked into the living room, finding a spot in the middle of the couch. It left me the chair on the opposite side of the room. An end table flanked either side, and both housed framed diamond paintings. They seemed new since I didn't remember them from my last visit.

"I didn't know they made smaller sized diamond paintings," I said, pointing at one of them. It featured two kittens in a woven basket, with flowers scattered on the ground around them. "I like the cats."

"They come in all sizes now. Big. Small. Medium. Finding the right frame sizes can be tricky sometimes." She wiped her hands down her black leggings and with heavyset eyes started at me. "Show me the pictures of the hussy trying to steal my man. I'm ready."

I ran my fingers over the rough piece of barn wood framing the closest piece. The kittens stared at me with haunted eyes. They were definitely worse than the chickens she collected.

"There are no pictures, Aunt Claire," I said, looking into her eyes so I didn't have to see the creepy kittens.

How did someone make kittens creepy? I wouldn't believe it possible, except there was no other way to describe it. Their fur sparkled in a disjointed way and their eyes were dead even in the glitz. I'd probably end up having nightmares.

"There must be pictures, Vonnie. The late nights. The dinners. All those expenses," my aunt said with her hand on her neck like she had invisible pearls to clutch. "You wouldn't cover up his crimes. Would you?"

I sucked in a breath. "Of course not. He's my uncle, but I wouldn't stand by and let him cheat."

Claire nodded and dove her fingers through her thick, long brown hair. "That's why I reached out to you because you have such a strong moral compass."

Did I? Sure, I hadn't caught my uncle cheating, but I had pictures of other things. If not worse, then definitely on the same sliding scale. But I didn't show those to Aunt Claire. I'd printed the stack off in my office the last time I was there, but didn't bring them with me. I'd never considered it. She didn't need to see pictures of my uncle meeting with strangers in parking lots. What would I tell her?

"What is he doing when he leaves at all hours of the night?" she asked, her voice cracking. Her eyes were red with unshed tears.

I shook my head. She didn't want to know, and I really didn't want to tell her. "I'm still working on it, but I feel safe saying there is no other woman."

Her shoulders sagged with the news. Almost like she wanted me to bring evidence of his extramarital affairs. But they'd worked so hard for her Florida retirement. I didn't see my aunt wanting to risk all of it. Not after all their hard work.

"I trust you," she said. "I just wish I could trust him, too. He's up to something."

"An affair is out of character for Uncle Richard," I said, hoping she'd agree, and we might go back to a life where I didn't have to consider whether my uncle deserved a jail sentence.

Aunt Claire sucked in a breath and her lips puckered. "Do we ever really know anyone?"

I opened my mouth to answer with a quick yes but then closed it. Did we? People were so complex. Full of twists and turns. Just when you thought you had someone figured out-like Mick-they went and blew your theories out of the water. Sometimes I barely knew myself, let alone anyone else on this planet.

"I really don't know," I said and stood. The clock continued to click closer to five, and I wanted to be out of the house before Richard returned.

Claire stood with me as she pushed her hair from her shoulders. "I'm going to confront him tonight at dinner."

I stopped halfway across the living room. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You don't know what you're confronting him about."

And I highly doubted my uncle would confess to being a drug seller or, worse, a drug lord just because my aunt accused him of some unknown crime. You didn't stay out of jail by confessing with the first weird glance in your direction.

"Yes, I'll take him to the place in Clearwater with the lobster and ask him there. He'll be caught off guard because of the lobster coma."

Lobster coma? I chose not to ask.

"You'll have to let me know if he confesses," I said, standing in front of her door.

She had a hard glint set to her gaze as she walked toward me. "I'll get it out of him. Just you wait."

"Aunt Claire," I said, stopping with my hand on the handle. "If it were something else, would you want to know?"

She thought for a moment, her head tilted to the side. The pose resembled a chicken diamond painting hung on the wall behind her. "Like a crime?"

"I'm not saying that." I held out my hand with a little wave.

Claire laughed and shook her head. "Your uncle wouldn't be involved in any crimes. Have you met the man? He always said your mother inherited all the wild genes."

"Yeah," I agreed and did my best to laugh with her. I hadn't been in a laughing mood in a while. "You're right."

Uncle Richard wasn't a drug lord any more than I was the best PI in Maine.

"If your uncle is into something bad," she said, holding the door open for me, "I know you'll do the right thing. That's what makes you the best Vines in the family."

I stopped on their first step. "You're sure?"

Claire gave me another little laugh. "Yes. I'm also sure your uncle isn't committing any crimes, so don't worry about it."

I nodded once and finished walking down the steps. Except I wasn't as sure about it as she was. Claire closed the front door as I crossed the street, and I gave the home one last backward glance before leaving. I had a lot of suspicion about my uncle's movements but needed more than circumstantial evidence. That meant I'd have to keep digging.