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knees, gingerly looking around. “Are they gone?”
    There was still one circling his head. “Yes.”
    “Whew.” He let out a breath of relief and reached for his things. “I’m looking for Detective Lieutenant Luke Hanover. I just want a picture—”
    That was all she needed to hear. She grabbed the hose that she’d coiled yesterday after watering the yard and nailed him.
    “Hey!” He curled over his phone and camera to protect them. “ Hey! ”
    She lowered the hose. “You’re trespassing.”
    He stared at her like she was a loon. “You ruined my things! I’m going to call the cops!”
    “Do that,” she suggested. “And be sure to tell them you were on private property trying to get a picture to sell to the media when you accidentally ran into the sprinklers.”
    “I’m not leaving,” he said. “Not until I talk to the owner of this house.”
    Ali lifted the hose again, and he squeaked and then ran off. “That’s what I thought,” she said, and dropped the hose.
    Feeling a little better, she went inside and wrapped up the second omelet and put it in the fridge with a note to her tall, dark, and attitude-ridden landlord:
    Luke,
    I made you a kick-ass omelet. Thanks for letting me stay the night.
    Ali
    P.S. I hosed the paparazzi scoping out your back deck so I doubt he’ll be back today.
    It took her a moment to find her keys, since she’d thrown the key pot at Luke. They were under the table. Grabbing them, she headed out to her class. It was surprisingly hot already, which might have sent anyone else scampering back inside, but Ali was made of sheer, one-hundred-percent resilience.
    Or so her mom always said.
    Outside, her truck didn’t want to start. It was a morning thing, something the two of them had in common. “Come on baby,” she coaxed, patting the dash with love. “Do it for me.” The sweet talk worked, the truck roared to life, and they were off.
    Lucky Harbor tended to roll up its sidewalks at dusk, and they hadn’t yet been unrolled. The sleepy town was just coming to life, with little to no traffic on the streets and the shops not yet open for business. The pier was quiet too, the arcade dark, the Ferris wheel still against the morning sky.
    On the outskirts of town stood a large, one-story building that had once been a small Army outpost. The barracks had been converted to apartments and then into a senior center.
    Inside, Ali was greeted by Lucille. She was somewhere between sixty and one hundred, had a tendency toward velour sweat suits in eye-popping colors, and had a heart of gold. She also had an ear for gossip. She ran the local art gallery and the town’s Facebook page with equal enthusiasm. Recently she’d expanded her social media platform to include Pinterest as well. She came out for all of Ali’s classes because she had a crush on the men at the senior center, at least the ones who were “still kicking” as she liked to say.
    Lucille smiled sympathetically at Ali. “You okay, honey?”
    “Sure,” Ali said. “Why?”
    “I heard about your breakup. It’s on Facebook.”
    Ali stared at her. “Who put it on Facebook?”
    “Me.” At least she grimaced. “I’m sorry. I heard it from the grapevine, so I wanted to get Ted up on our list of eligible bachelors.” She patted Ali’s hand. “Don’t give him another thought. A man like Ted Marshall isn’t ready to be tied down is all. Not your fault.”
    Ali hadn’t wanted to tie him down. She’d wanted…well, she didn’t know exactly.
    Liar, liar, pants on fire. She knew.
    She wanted to be loved.
    They entered the big rec room for class and found the usual gang, ex-postmaster and currently a professional hell raiser Mr. Lyon, ex–truck driver and current geriatric playboy Mr. Elroy, and ex–rocket scientist and current ringleader Mr. Wykowski—all of them decades north of their midlife crises. Mr. Gregory was there as well because he’d just driven them back from the breakfast buffet and was helping