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couldn’t do that.”
    “I insist. Mary went to school with my daughter, Cindy. She was just a tad younger than Cindy and always the nicest little thing.” She looked at me as I switched my duffle bag to my other hand. “Look at me jabbering on. You want to see your room, don’t you? We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
    The inside of the house was neat and orderly. The living room had a quaint prairie charm down to what looked like a stuffed raccoon in the corner by the firewood and basket of pinecones. It was rustic in a charming log cabin sort of way. My room was up a narrow staircase on the second floor and overlooked the front of the house. The walls were dark gray, and a stark white quilt covered the canopy bed. There were two chairs and a fireplace with its own little stack of wood. “It’s beautiful,” I told Martha.
    “It’s my favorite.” She looked around, pleased. “I made that quilt myself. I never imagined I’d be making quilts and running a bed and breakfast when I went to art school, but such is life.” She laughed and pointed to her right. “The bathroom’s through that door, and breakfast’s at 7:00 a.m. sharp. I’m usually around so just holler, but for the odd time I’m out, here’s my cell phone number.” She handed me a ring with two keys on it. “This is for the front door—I lock up at 10:00 p.m.—and this is the key for your room. Let me know if you need anything at all, dear.”
    I put my bag on the bench at the end of the bed and laid my laptop near the headboard. No television, no Gabriel, nothing to distract me from work. I ran a brush through my hair and checked my makeup before I left, locking the room behind me—and double-checking for old time’s sake. I told Martha I had to run to the sheriff’s office and then I’d be back to discuss Mary with her.
    Deanna was at the front desk again. She smiled and waved as I walked in, then lifted the phone and called the sheriff. Before I could even sit Fagan opened the door and beckoned me inside. Once again he led me through the bullpen and back to his office.
    “Thank you for stopping by again, Ella. Where’s your friend?”
    “At work.”
    He nodded and handed me a thin file folder.
    “This is all you have on a murder investigation? No wonder you didn’t solve it.”
    His smile froze and his voice took on an edge that wasn’t entirely friendly. “That’s all I’m willing to share with you—a civilian.”
    “Great, gee thanks.” I started to stand, but he motioned me to stay put.
    “I could be willing to give you a little more if you were willing to do one or two things for me.”
    “Excuse me?” He couldn’t have possibly just asked what I thought he had. I was about to let him have a piece of my mind when he shook his head.
    “Nothing lascivious—a book signing at the local bookstore and an appearance or two with me. Mary Nelson’s murder has shaken the community’s faith and it’s an election year. A little good PR would help me tremendously.”
    “Let me get this straight. You’re trying to bribe me with evidence in a murder that I’m helping you solve? Wouldn’t you get more votes out of a closed investigation than from a few appearances with me?”
    “I know your past. Managing to solve one crime doesn’t make you a detective. You knew everyone involved in that one, and it still took you over a year to find the killer. You don’t know anyone here. I have no delusions that you’ll solve anything. I’m simply asking you to scratch my back if I scratch yours. You’ll have better material for your book, and I’ll have a better public image.”
    I rolled my neck from side to side and mentally counted to ten. Could Fagan be any more of a jerk? “What kind of evidence are we talking about?”
    He flashed his shark-like smile. “Crime scene photos.”
    “Interviews?”
    “No.”
    “Then no deal.”I tapped my foot impatiently, as he tried to stare me down. After years of practice