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from joining them. He made the reservations at the Black Bear Chalet, and thought about Mary Ellen waiting at home.

Trying not to smile as he joined the briefing, he kept his remarks short, stressing the Halloween event. His inquiry about the message left on Titch’s desk was met with head shakes and blank stares, even from Deputy Baker.

Chapter 7
    Pondering his red folder mystery, Ed drove home, his anticipation—and something else—rising, the closer he got to his house. Lights were on in the boys’ bedrooms. Doing homework, he assumed, although in reality, all it meant was the lights were on. By now, they might be downstairs watching television.
    Inside, Buster trotted over in greeting. Ed ruffled his fur. “Someone’s glad to see me.” Ed paused in the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine, noting the level in the bottle was the same as when he’d left. Maybe his worries were for nothing. He poured a second glass.
    The boys were watching television. Jeremy glanced up. “Hi, Dad.”
    “Homework done?” Ed asked.
    Mitch rolled his eyes, a perfect replication of his mother. “Duh, Dad. No TV until homework’s done. We’re watching TV. What do you think? Aren’t you a detective?”
    “First, Mapleton doesn’t have detectives. Second, your tone is bordering on an inappropriate way to talk to your father. Third, where’s your mom?”
    Mitch ducked his head.
    “In the study,” Jeremy said.
    Ed wandered down the hall to the study and bumped the closed door with an elbow, careful not to spill the wine. “Honey, I’m home,” he said in his best Ricky Ricardo imitation. When she didn’t answer, he shifted the glasses to one hand and let himself in.
    Mary Ellen sat at the desk, staring intently at her computer, moving the mouse, clicking keys, apparently oblivious to his presence.
    “Honey?” he said again. “I’m home. And it’s not even nine.”
    She glanced over her shoulder. He set her wine on the desk. “Am I interrupting?” he asked.
    “Sorry. Last minute rush job.”
    “You know, you’re allowed to tell clients they need to give you a reasonable advance notice before they want their websites updated.”
    She shrugged. “He called right after you left, and I didn’t have anything else to do.” Her tone suggested she didn’t think he’d be home when he’d said he would.
    “Think you’ll be done by the time the boys go to bed?”
    “I should be. I need to upload a couple more images, check the links, and that should be it.”
    He leaned over her shoulder, enjoying her “Mary Ellen” scent. “You do charge more for these drop everything and fix this now clients, don’t you?”
    “Sometimes. Depends on the job. This one’s for Father McMahan, and I’m not charging him anything. It’s for the church website.” She pushed the mouse aside. “Have you considered a website for Mapleton? I could give the city a good price.”
    “I’m not sure. It might push the nepotism button.”
    “Well, there aren’t very many web designers based in Mapleton. I do have an insider’s view of the city.”
    “I’ll think about it. Might be something worth mentioning to the mayor. Meanwhile, I’ll hang with the boys.”
    Mitch and Jeremy were sprawled across the couch, so Ed sat in his easy chair and sipped his wine. The television was tuned to a police investigation drama, and Ed cringed at how much they got wrong. “You do know it’s not like that,” he said to the boys.
    “C’mon, Dad. It’s television . We know it’s not real,” Mitch said.
    “You figured out the bad guy yet?” Ed asked.
    Mitch snorted. “Yeah, in about ten minutes. It’s always someone who shows up in the beginning, then the cops say he couldn’t have done it, and you don’t see him again until it’s almost over, and they nail him. But we’re going to wait to the end to make sure.”
    “What’s it really like, finding the bad guy?” Jeremy asked.
    “A lot of work, asking a lot of people a lot of