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circumstances, the details of which the police were keeping to themselves.
    Cora clicked the article.
    She skimmed the text. She blinked. No. That could not be! Jane’s name appeared in the article as a person of interest! How did the reporter find out? Who had given them permission to use Jane’s name?
    Cora’s heart thundered and her stomach tightened. Cora and Jane had chosen to move to Indigo Gap because it was so far off the radar from most of the people they had known. It was deep in the mountains and as secluded as a town could get, without being too backward. A town of artisans. A town of historians and antique collectors. They both felt comforted there, surrounded by the quaint cobblestone streets, the hills, the springs and rivers. All of it felt welcoming. Until now. Cora now felt trapped, as if everybody in town was suspecting her friend of murder.
    She took a deep belly breath, trying to will off a panic attack. She could do this. She hadn’t had a panic attack in over a year. No pills, not now. Air. She needed air.
    Cora rose from her desk and cracked open a window. She inhaled the autumn air. The scent of earth and crisp autumn leaves filled her nose, and her lungs expanded. She closed her eyes and breathed.
    One mystery was solved: the reason for the cancela-tions. People learned Jane was suspected of murder.
    Calm down, she told herself. It was perfectly normal for her heart to race. Breathe in, breathe out. Normal people had racing hearts when something like this happened, right? It didn’t mean it was going to escalate into the chest-crushing sensation of a panic attack.
    What to do? Had Jane seen the article?
    That thought filled Cora with more dread. But, she reminded herself, Jane was no fragile flower. Not anymore.
    But this could set her back. If Jane knew her name was in the paper as a person of interest, it would alarm her. Worse, it may make her want to leave town. Leave Cora and the business. Jane was integral to the plan. Cora didn’t want to do it without her—in fact, she considered Jane her partner, even though she had no finances to invest. Her energy, creativity, and heart had gone into every detail of the retreat.
    â€œGet a grip, Cora,” she said out loud to herself. Most likely, Jane had not seen the article. She was not a reader. Hell, Cora loved to read, but even she barely read the local paper.
    Although, obviously, the local crafters did read it.
    Cora sighed, wilting into herself as she sat back down in front of her computer. What to do?
    Should she call the paper? Call Cashel? Call her Uncle Jon? No, he mustn’t know what a mess things were becoming. Her careful plans were becoming undone. All because Jane was ridiculously being accused of murder.
    She decided to dial Cashel.
    â€œO’Malley and DiPalma, can I help you?” a female voice said. A clipped, efficient voice.
    â€œUm, yes, is Mr. O’Malley in?” This was a mistake. What would she even say to him? She fought the urge to hang up.
    â€œWho may I ask is calling?”
    Would he even know her by her name? They had only met briefly yesterday.
    â€œWho may I ask is calling?” the woman on the other line asked again.
    â€œOh, I’m sorry. This is Cora Chevalier.”
    â€œJust a moment please,” the voice said.
    â€œYes, Cora?” Cashel’s voice came over the line. His voice was like sweet Southern honey. She imagined him sitting behind a big shiny desk. Don’t go there, Cora . “Can I help you?”
    â€œHave you seen today’s paper?” she blurted out.
    â€œWhich paper?”
    Why was he being so calm? Cora heard the shuffling of papers in the background.
    â€œThe local paper! Jane’s name is in it as a person of interest in the murder case.” Her voice started to quiver. Where did that come from? Her voice never quivered!
    â€œDamn,” he said. “I didn’t see it. I’ve been in court all