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murder mystery weekend things at a bed-and-breakfast. Is Shepler investigating this case? I'm sure he can wrap this up pretty quickly."
    "He isn't…conflict of interest. Carla used to date Britton, and she told him off yesterday morning because he was being an intimidating idiot to me."
    Alex's eyes widened. "Whoa. Carla dated him ? I didn't think crooked slimeball was her type. Plus, he went after you? I wish I had been there to put him in his place."
    "It's okay. Childish intimidation doesn't really throw me off much anymore. Sticks and stones." She twisted to look over her shoulder and make sure she switched off the burner under the porridge pot. The tired muscles in her neck, courtesy of tossing and turning most of the night, screamed in protest at the movement. The pain opened some kind of mental doorway and slam-dunked Alex's comments into her consciousness. "You know him?"
    "Quantum designed the logo and signage for Cornerstone restaurant." He traced figure eights in his porridge with a spoon. "I decided a year ago that my company would never work for him again. Not only was he a royal pain in the ass of a client, he didn't pay his bills on time. He would skip a few payments. Then when we threatened to send the bill to a collections agency, he started paying, but only half or a quarter of what we billed for that period. It was a nightmare, and it took at least twice as long, compared to any other business, to get our full payment."
    "According to Carla, Britton's personal life was just as messed up. We've chatted about him a few times since she found out I'd be competing against him. If he treated all of his business and personal acquaintances the same way…he was probably about as popular as a moldy bagel. The detective that took over the case from Shepler could be facing a tangled pile of cooked spaghetti, if suspects and motives were spaghetti." Her stomach growled. That's what she got for using multiple food references in a conversation when she was hungry. "I just hope he does figure it out soon. Arguing with a murder victim hours before he was killed is pretty much the equivalent of Carla wearing a bull's-eye on her shirt. He's bound to target her first, I think. Shepler knew about the spat between Carla and Britton before he even talked to me. When this Pitts guy interviewed me later, he didn't ask about the argument, just wanted to know what happened after I almost got tackled by a dead man."
    Alex's phone vibrated in circles on the table. He picked it up and frowned. "I guess I was wrong. Looks like I need to get to the office." He swiped his thumb over the screen to scroll through a message. "Soon. I'm sorry."
    He put his bowl of untouched porridge in the sink and walked out of the kitchen. Without even asking if she would be okay if he left. Had he even heard her say she didn't want to be alone?
     
    * * *
     
    After Alex left for work, Amy took a decidedly unrestful nap. She dreamed she was backstage again. Every way she turned, dead bodies toppled toward her. Running in her sleep left her feeling more tired than before she curled up on the couch with Pogo, her pup who was always ready for a nap, snuggled against her stomach. The gravely rumble of a plow truck clearing snow off the street woke her.
    She reached over her head and grabbed her phone off the arm of the couch where she had left it, easily within reach if Carla needed her. Except she had slept through the text message alert. The blip must've blended in with the nightmare's soundtrack. Luckily, it wasn't Carla, just Alex letting her know he wouldn't be home until after dinner. Again.
    Assuming Carla's silence was a good thing, Amy decided to check on Sophie. The horror-story plot twist in the showdown had turned her cooking partner into a hot mess with a bad case of freak-out stomach flu. Amy scooped up Pogo and settled him on a fluffy pillow in the corner of the couch. She would never make it to Riverbend Coffee if she didn't get up and put on