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super-terrific supper. She was depending on Chef John to provide that.
    After thirty minutes of studying recipes she decided on Crock Pot Beef Stew. Since she’d be helping Shirley get ready for her set-up at the War Eagle Craft Fair all afternoon, and a meal prepared in a slow cooker pretty much took care of itself, the stew recipe was perfect.
    She made a list of the ingredients she’d need, grabbed her purse, and left for the grocery store.
     
    Carrie was putting the makings for beef stew out on the kitchen counter when a dark blue car bumped down their lane and pulled up in front of the garage doors.
    Who ?
    Not a car belonging to any of their friends. Couldn’t be the assessor, their cars were white, and clearly marked. Jehovah’s Witnesses? Doubtful, they were here last week. Someone searching for a lost pet? Could be, but it looked like the two men in the car had on suits and ties. Law enforcement? Police officers and sheriff’s deputies in this area wore uniforms.
    “Oh my gosh, was it about Rob? No! Couldn’t be. Her son had called from his apartment near the university not more than an hour ago. He had no classes or student appointments scheduled until afternoon, so planned to spend the morning at home grading exams from his American Indian History class.
    Nevertheless . . .
    When the man on the passenger side got out, his jacket swung back and she saw part of a shoulder holster. A gun? Well, not inside her house. She stepped back from the kitchen window and watched to see if the man with the concealed gun was coming to the door by himself. He was. The driver stayed in the car.
    She would open the door to one man, just to make sure about Rob.
    After the doorbell rang she continued to wait until she was sure the man in the car was staying put. Then she went to the hall, fastened the security chain, and cracked the door open.
    “Yes?”
    “Ms. Edith Embler?”
    Is that a question? Does he know I’m not Edie? What should I say?
    She studied the man, thinking she might need to remember him. About Henry’s size. Full head of dark hair with a bit of grey mixed in, tan skin like Henry’s. Looks strong. Hulking stance is a bit threatening, but he’s smiling, trying to be pleasant. I guess he’s not sure whether I’m Edie or not.
    It took her only a flash of seconds to think this, and, if he even noticed she was hesitating, the man didn’t seem to be bothered.
    “No,” she said, and waited.
    “Is she here?”
    “Who’s asking?”
    “I apologize.” He took out a wallet and flipped it open, holding it next to the small gap in the door. “Agent Arnold—Arnie—Frost. FBI.” The wallet flipped shut.
    “I see.” Carrie’s defenses went up. “No one by that name here.”
    “Are you Ms. Embler’s cousin, Carrie McCrite?”
    Oh-Oh, be careful. “If I have a living cousin, I haven’t been aware of that” ( not until last week). “ I assure you there is no one by that name here, nor do I have any idea where someone by that name might be. Is that all? I’m busy in the kitchen.”
    The man studied her face for a moment, then said, “Thank you for your time. We may call back later,” and walked off her porch.
    She shutthe door and locked it. Whew. Probably should have tried to find out more from good old Arnie. Henry would have known what questions to ask, and whether or not I should have told the man about Edie. But, these days wouldn’t it startle anyone—a strange man coming to the door unannounced? Wouldn’t anyone hesitate about answering his questions?
    Well, she hadn’t said a word that wasn’t true. There was only that tiny little deception, skirting around any admission she had ever heard of Edith Embler.
    For the hundredth time Carrie wondered, Is Edie really my cousin?
    Shoving that thought aside, she went back to finish assembling ingredients for her beef stew.
     
    You might know, Carrie thought several minutes later when the phone rang. I’m cooking, the phone rings. She put a