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wanted to bring something up, but I didn’t want to accuse Ty of not doing enough.
    “What’s on your mind, Trixie? Spill.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, you’re petting Blondie so much, she’s losing fur.”
    “Okay. I didn’t want to get ACB alarmed, because she thinks that Nick’s coming back for her, and I kind of encouraged that kind of thinking, but—”
    “But?”
    “But I have this feeling in my gut that Nick just didn’t up and run away. I think something happened to him.”
    “I do, too, Trixie. I do, too.”

Chapter 3
    M y cell phone rang just as Ty jogged away with Blondie. I checked the number. It was ACB.
    “Hello, Antoinette Chloe.”
    “Trixie, do you remember that you were supposed to meet me at my land? We are about to break ground for my drive-in.”
    “Already? Antoinette Chloe, you told me next Thursday.” When that woman had a bee in her bonnet, or various flora, fauna, poultry, and birds, she worked fast.
    “Well, Excavating Ed Berger had a job fall through, so he and his backhoe and other equipment are available. So we’re rocking and rolling today.”
    “You don’t need me.” What was I supposed to do? Watch Ed the Excavator and his crew move dirt and cut trees?
    “Joan Paris of the
Sandy Harbor Lure
is going to be there, so it’s a photo op for our mayor. Besides, it’ll be good publicity for us, too. And as my best friend, I’d like you to cut the ribbon with me.”
    Aww . . .
    “Hurry, Trixie! Oh, this is so exciting!”
    I walked to my car and drove to ACB’s land. There were four other cars parked in a line along the highway, and I pulled in behind them.
    ACB was there, holding a long yellow ribbon that looked like crime-scene tape at first glance. At second glance, it definitely was crime-scene tape.
    ACB handed an end to the mayor and the other end to Ed Berger, whose loud, obnoxious backhoe was running.
    “I’m so glad you’re here, Trixie,” ACB shouted over the noise. She handed me a pair of scissors, and as Joan Paris began taking pictures for the
Lure
, ACB and I posed like we were cutting the crime-scene tape.
    ACB had on a subdued muumuu—yellow and blue bird-of-paradise flowers on a fuchsia background. I wished I had the time to change from my tomato-print chef’s pants and red chef’s coat. Sandy Harbor mayor Rick Tingsley was all suited up with a red-striped tie. His light blue shirt was stretched across his belly, with a couple of buttons straining to keep the shirt closed. The buttons were fighting a losing battle.
    Joan Paris was dressed in a black fitted skirt, aqua sweater, and tall black boots. She always looked fashionable, even when she was taking pictures in the mud.
    When ACB brought out the champagne and glasses, Mayor Tingsley was the first to hold his glass out. Ed Berger shook his head at the champagne and made a motion that he was going to get to work. It was useless to talk over the roar of themotor, so we smiled at each other, drank champagne, and watched Ed dig. Joan took more pictures.
    At about the third scoop of dirt, I spit out my champagne and dropped the glass into the grass.
    “Stop! Ed! Stop!” I ran in front of the backhoe, waving my hands and screaming. “Stop! Stop!” I ran my hand across my throat in a gesture for him to cut the motor.
    “Oh my goodness!” Annette Chloe flip-flopped across the field to where Ed had started digging. “Oh no! It’s Nick! Those are his tattoos. That’s his Harley shirt!”
    I tried to keep her away from the dirt-covered body of Nick Brownelli. He was on his back, and his face and eyes were covered in mud. There was a dark spot on the left side of his neck, and I thought it must be blood from either a knife or a gunshot wound. Dirt clung to it.
    “Mayor Tingsley! Call the sheriff’s department!” I shouted. I couldn’t do it. I had a two-handed grip on ACB’s bird-of-paradise.
    But Mayor Tingsley was puking in the weeds.
    “Joan! Call the cops!” I yelled.
    “I’m