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correct.
    Amber had taken the muffins out of the oven ten minutes too late, which resulted in flat tops and burnt bottoms. Libby and Bernie had to make a couple of new batches before they left the store.
    “See,” Libby said to Bernie as she weighed out the flour. “I told you.”
    “Stop gloating,” Bernie told her.
    Libby tried, but she didn’t try very hard.

Chapter 4
     
    T wo hours later the sisters finally walked out of the shop. It was a nice, sunny day with a clear hint of spring in the air. Bernie and Libby both paused to admire the blue sky with the lacy clouds drifting overhead before they jumped in the van and headed over to Bree Nottingham’s guest cottage. Although in Bernie’s opinion guest cottage was too humble a word for the structure Duncan was now residing in. She’d seen houses that were smaller.
    “I wonder why Duncan is living at Bree’s,” Libby mused as she and her sister motored down Route 42 to the Apple Green Estate—the Apple Green Estate being the name Bree had given her house. “I mean it’s not as if he doesn’t have his own place.”
    Bernie shrugged as she took note of the trees. Soon they’d be greening up. April was almost here. “Maybe it’s a condition of his bail,” she suggested.
    “Maybe,” Libby said before turning her attention back to the road, which was always busy no matter what time of day it was. Cars wove themselves around the van, which was chugging along at its top speed of forty miles an hour.
    “I’m going as fast as I can,” Libby shouted at one of the myriad drivers who honked at her before finally passing the van on a clear stretch of road. “We definitely need a new vehicle,” Libby said to her sister through gritted teeth.
    “Agreed,” Bernie said, still looking out the window. Recently, she’d noticed a lot of empty spaces in the retail operations at the strip malls that lined the road, more than she ever remembered seeing in all the time she’d lived here. Which made her nervous. Their shop was doing well and Longely’s Main Street was doing well.... But still ... things seemed so much more tenuous these days. Shops that had existed forever were gone. She shook her head to clear the dark thoughts away.
    Ten minutes later, Libby muscled the van onto Wycoff Lane, a small road that led into the residential area that harbored some of the more affluent people in Longely. The houses here were big, most dating from the early 1900s, and were still in excellent repair. Bernie admired the variety of styles as they motored on toward Bree’s residence. The houses were a mix of colonial, Greek revival, and Tudor. Almost all of them were fronted by large expanses of closely cropped lawn and extensive landscaping. They were showcase houses, built to be seen and admired.
    Bree Nottingham’s house was at the end of the lane. The mansion had once been the home of railroad tycoon B. C. Wiley, before he had fallen on hard times and ended up drinking himself to death on the Bowery in New York City. Bree had rescued and restored the structure to its former splendor. Cozy it was not.
    The place contained seven bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and fireplace, as well as a huge living room and dining room, a mirrored ballroom, a library, a small indoor lap pool, a gym, a projection room that was now used for private screenings, and an extremely well-appointed kitchen. Whenever Bernie and Libby worked out of it, Bernie always felt as if she was working in a showcase. Literally.
    Everything in the kitchen looked brand new, mostly because it was. Bree kept updating it with the newest, most expensive appliances. Not that it really mattered, because they were rarely used. Every time Bernie worked here, it was clear to her from the condition of the counters, the pots, and the stove top, that no one ever cooked in the kitchen, except for them. But then why should anyone? Bernie had reflected. There was no need. Left to her own devices, Bree never ate anything