The happy feelings depleted in a swoosh. "Excuse me?"

It's possible I didn't hear him correctly.

"Leave town," Ridge repeated with the same tipped-up lips as before. Really, it was more of a smug grin than anything else.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind. So I let it sit there hanging open, letting in flies as my grandma would say.

He stared at me.

I glared at him, my eyebrows slowly narrowing as my lips made fish movements, opening and closing without a sound.

"I don't understand," I said finally. It made me feel like I'd lost the war somehow, so rather than look at him while I said it, I fixed the bottom of my T-shirt. I followed a loose thread to the start at the hem of my shirt.

"It's simple," Ridge said and pushed his elbows off the desk, leaning back in his chair. "Move to Florida with Broadrick, and I'll sign all your papers. You can be a full-fledged private investigator by tomorrow."

I scoffed. Even if he signed my forms right now, there was no way the state of Maine would get the paperwork processed by tomorrow.

There was no point mentioning that, so I stuck to the most important question. "What good is it to be a PI in Maine if I live in Florida?"

Ridge shrugged, stretching the sleeves of his polo shirt more. They'd probably rip soon if he didn't lay off the bench presses. "I'm sure there is a way you can use it to make it easier to obtain a Florida license."

We sat in silence while I contemplated and panicked about his comment. Did everyone in town want me to leave? What were the odds my mother wanted me gone, too? Aunt Claire would definitely send me on my way. My chest hurt, the tightness hitting my throat.

No, you know what? Screw them. I'd find Emma's killer and clear my uncle's name. If someone had set him up to take this fall for the entire operation, I'd be the one to prove his innocence. I had to finish this before I considered a trip to Florida, let alone a move there. Being a full-fledged PI meant nothing while I had Emma's murder hanging over my head.

But what about after I got Uncle Richard out of jail?

I bit the inside of my cheek in thought. Florida had the dream weather, and I'd be on a private island. It's like the universe answered every one of my paradise dreams. I bet they had palm trees on the island.

No. I wasn't from Florida. I grew up in Pelican Bay. Born here. I lived in Pelican Bay. I belonged here. Even if my mother, Ridge, Broadrick, and what felt like everyone else in town disagreed.

"I'll think about it," I said after finishing my internal debate.

Ridge folded his hands together and laid them on top of his desk as if he expected my answer was no. "We don't have to be adversaries, Vonnie. I'm not the enemy. We can help one another."

I scoffed. History showed that when it came to Ridge and me, the help only flowed one way. From me to him. Ridge expected me to tell him all my good clues, but he'd never called me up and said, "Vonnie, the murderer is hiding out at this address."

The slow blink I gave him didn't change his expression. "Yes, because you've been oh so helpful so far, Ridge."

He responded quickly. "The police found a black backpack floating off the shore about a mile away from the lighthouse where they brought in Emma Richards' body. They believe it belonged to her."

My breath stopped, and I clutched the arms of the chair, my knuckles turning white. They found a backpack? A black one?

Ridge continued, "Anderson thinks her murder was a drug-related robbery."

My nose crinkled, causing wrinkles in my forehead. That didn't make a ton of sense. "Was the backpack empty?"

He raised his left brow. "No. Full of coke baggies."

If the murderer didn't steal any of the drugs, how was the murderer motivated by robbery? Were they caught in the act before they could take anything? Why not throw the backpack over your shoulder and run off with it? If you've gone to the trouble to kill someone over drugs, why not make sure you took those drugs with you?

"Where did you get this 'tip'?" I asked, still working through what he said.

Anderson wasn't a stupid cop, so why would he say it was robbery motivated if they stole nothing? Unless they took something else. What did criminals want more than drugs?

"Straight from Anderson's mouth, and yes, I had the same questions as you."

I pushed forward in the chair. "I didn't ask any questions."

Ridge chuckled. "Your face did all the talking."

Whatever.

Plus, his comment made me extra annoyed. Chief Anderson never told me anything, but here he was sharing info with Ridge behind my back.

I stood up and headed for the door.

"Keep me posted on your decision," Ridge yelled at me as I walked out of his office.

I raised my hand as a silent promise, even though I wasn't sure if I would. Ridge's secretary stood up from behind her desk as I passed by. I gave her another hand raise too and kept going toward the glass front door.

The thoughts from the day made my head heavy. It seemed as if everyone wanted to strong arm me out of Pelican Bay, but I wasn't ready to go. I needed food and an early bedtime. Tomorrow I'd be able to look at things with a new light.

Hopefully.

**

"Where did you put NB's leash?" Broadrick called from the kitchen early the next morning.

I hopped on one foot to get the rest of my tennis shoe over my heel. "By the coats where I always store it."

"It's not there," he called back almost instantly.

Ugh. I stuck my arms through a short jean jacket from the closet and ran my hands over the front. The jacket covered most of my white T-shirt advertising Buffalo Bill's hand lotion. Since I had a meeting with Janet in thirty minutes, it seemed like a wise choice. I wanted her to see me as a professional. A colleague.

"Check the coffee table!" I slipped on the other shoe. My time ticked away with each second. If I didn't leave soon, I'd end up late for our meeting. Professionals should always be on time, so I had to hurry.

I grabbed my car keys from the top of the dresser and walked into the living room. Broadrick had the leash hanging from his right hand.

"Found it," he said.

I nodded. "I told you it was on the coffee table."

He clipped the leash to NB's collar as he did his little doggy dance. "It was under the couch."

"Same thing." Close enough. The coffee table was less than two feet from the couch. That counted. "You're cool to walk him alone. Right?"

Broadrick and NB walked toward the door, but Broadrick kept his attention on me. He had on his standard pair of dark wash blue jeans and a red buffalo plaid button-down shirt. He pulled off the lumberjack look well. "I always do the morning walk alone. Why are you even up right now?"

Seriously, did everyone have to question my methods? "I'm meeting with my divorce attorney."

"That's not funny," he said, his expression falling.

I shrugged. Teach him to question my sleeping habits. He shouldn't judge me just because I didn't like to get up before the sun. "It's not a joke. I'm meeting Janet Day, the divorce attorney in Clearwater. She can give me tips on a prenup?"

His eyebrows fell further. "You want a prenup before we get married?"

My heart stopped for a full two beats.

Sure, I made the prenup joke, but he sounded super willing to sign one. Which meant he'd given it thought. Serious thought. But if that was the case, he'd know I had no reason to demand a prenup. I owned nothing of value. Was he planning to ask me for a prenup? Wait. We weren't even getting married. Were we?

"We're getting married?"

The tips of Broadrick's lips rose. "Yeah. One day. We've gone over this."

Had we?

He opened the front door to let me walk out first. "I like reminders."

Broadrick ran two of his fingers over his temple as he closed the door behind him. NB raced toward the top of the steps and launched himself off the first two. Broadrick jogged forward so the little dog didn't strangle himself.

"Have fun with the lawyer," Broadrick yelled at me as he and NB took off at a trot down the street.

I cranked up the tunes and made the drive to the diner four minutes early for my appointment with Janet. The lights in the diner were on, but my car was the only one in the parking lot. I walked to the main door and tested it, expecting it to be locked, but the door opened.

In the far back, at the same booth she'd been at the first time we met, Janet Day sat with a steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

"We're not turning the ovens on for another ten minutes," a woman to my right said. "But feel free to seat yourself."