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have you been? I thought you were following us? Where’s Nate?” She pushed past me to check the driveway.
    “He went home.”
    Her lips twisted in distaste. “He’s the only man on your horizon. You should keep him close.”
    I forced a tight smile and headed for the kitchen. “I’m not doing this with you again tonight.”
    The heavenly aroma of percolating coffee met me in the hallway and invited me back in time. Bright white cabinetry adorned the same country blue walls I’d helped paint in junior high. Matching gingham curtains dressed the windows, and knitted cozies shaped like farm animals covered Mom’s small appliances. My senior picture stuck to the refrigerator in a magnetic frame beside Bree’s wedding photo and a snapshot from Gwen’s first birthday.
    Dad set a bottle of wine on the counter and cracked the top off a beer. “You hungry?”
    Always. “Not really.”
    Mom had unloaded the refrigerator and spread a buffet of leftovers and sandwich components and condiments on the island. “Make a plate.” She motioned to her spread. “Eat.”
    I scooped pasta salad into a bowl. My tummy growled in excitement. “How’s Grandma?”
    Dad swigged his beer. “Great. She’s in the living room.”
    Her muffled voice ricocheted off the walls.
    “Ah. What’s she doing?”
    “Cursing.”
    I smiled. “At who?”
    He rubbed his forehead. “Either at her lawyer or the television. Hard to say. The eight o’clock news just started.”
    I followed Grandma’s voice to the living room.
    She pressed a phone to her ear. “They’re insinuating our product killed that man! What am I keeping you on retainer for?”
    I turned back for a cup of coffee. “Lawyer.”
    Mom made the sign of the cross and poured a glass of wine. “I’m going to check on Gwen. She was fussing when we got home, and Bree put her down in the den.”
    Tom rounded the corner, palms up. “No need. She’s fast asleep. What can I say? I’m Houdini Dad. Some might call me The Baby Whisperer.” He wound long arms around Bree and kissed her head.
    Bree turned to kiss his lips. “Thank you for getting her to sleep. We make perfect babies.”
    Gag.
    Dad nudged me into the dining room, shooing me like an unwanted cat on the front porch.
    I hustled ahead of his flapping hands. “What?”
    “So?” He pulled the etched glass doors closed behind us.
    I used my big eyes again. “What? I don’t know what you mean.”
    His expression turned droll. “What did Dan and Jake have to say? Your mother said you stayed behind to talk to them.”
    “Well, they said they’re looking into it.”
    Dad raised his thick graying eyebrows like antenna.
    The air between us charged with his retired-cop senses.
    The doorbell rang, and I squeaked.
    A stampede of footfalls headed toward the front door. Dad shot me a look. “I’ll talk to you in a minute. I have to make sure that’s not a reporter. Who knows what your grandmother would do to them.”
    I gave Dad a thumbs-up and went back to the kitchen.
    I grabbed a coffee mug and surveyed the empty bottle of wine. Mom’s glass was also empty.
    I pulled a fresh bottle from the rack and jammed the corkscrew in the spongy top. If I didn’t have to drive home, I might have skipped the coffee, too. Regardless, Mom would need another glass tonight.
    A confusing sound traveled down the hall and settled in my gut as I worked the corkscrew. It was the same deep drawl that had haunted my sleep since July. My fingers froze mid-twist.
    “Mia.” Mom beamed. “Look who came to see you.”
    Deputy US Marshal Jake Archer frowned at me from across my parents’ kitchen, complete with cowboy hat and shiny gold star. “Hello, Mia.”

Chapter Four
    My mind raced with possible reasons for Jake Archer to appear in my parents’ kitchen. Most were troublesome. None were good. I lifted my hand waist high and wiggled my fingers. “Hi.”
    He nodded once, shifting his gaze across the room and down the length of me.
    Bree