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a skinny little thing who looked as if she survived on breadcrumbs, Lynn enjoyed her food as much as I. She c ould eat like it was her last meal . . . .
    No longer hungry, I dropped the half-demolished sausage on the plate and stared at it. Lynn’s passing still confused my brain; one minute it knew she was gone, the next it thought of her in the here and now.
    Ro yal rose and came to me. One arm circled my shoulders, the other under my knees, and he swept me up. He took me to one of t he couches and eased down . On his knees with his arms cuddling me, I looked at copper eyes glowing with compassion.
    “It’s differen t.” I snuggled on his chest. H is arms tightened. “I feel sorry for dead people who linger, more for those with whom I form a relationship, but they’re already dead when I meet them. Lynn. . . . I remember what she was, Royal, and all that’s gone away.”
    This felt worse than when Janine Hulme died. The only person apart from Lynn I knew before they died, I saw Janine once alive and twice dead, and those meetings affected me emotionally in ways interaction s with a dead stranger did not.
    “I know.” His hand moved rhythmically over my hair. His warm baritone voice and body heat enveloped me.
    For me, losing Lynn to murder wa s a double whammy. She was still out there, not gone from the world . She lingered, waiting for me to find her killer and bring him to justice . Hop ing that one day, finally, she c o uld pass over to where she belonged.

Chapter Four
    The doorbell rang as I dug pastry from the food processor and dumped it on a cutting board .
    “Tiff! ” Dale called as the front door opened.
    I stuck my head a round the corner. “In the kitchen .”
    Dale thundered in with Jack on his heels as I attacked the dough again.
    “Good lord, woman, you’ll slice your fingers on the blades. Don’t you have a spatula?” Dale asked.
    “Yeah, someplace.” I took the cutting board to the island, then turned bac k to the sink and washed my hands under the faucet.
    He put a large dish on the island. “ D evilled eggs.”
    “Oh, yummy.”
    Why did I wash my hands when I had to knead the dough ? Duh. I made to manipulate the stuff.
    Dale stepped in. “Here, le t me. Kneading is my specialty.”
    “Don’t I know it,” Jack simpered.
    I made a face. “Eew! Cut it out , you two.”
    Dale grinned. “Where’s Royal ?”
    Paper plates were in the top cabinet. Lucky I’m tall. I pulled out a stack and put them on the island with the silverware and condiments. “ He went to get marinated chicken kebabs from Dyson’s.”
    “What is this anyway? ” Dale asked as he worked on the dough.
    “Biscuits.”
    “Biscuits with a barbecue? No rolls?” from Jack.
    “I like biscuits, and there are plenty of Ranch rolls in the pantry.”
    Excited yips sounded from outside.
    Jack went through the entryway to the sliding French doors. I joined him.
    Mac lay on his back on the grass as Mel brushed his belly. She used a stick to pin a small clump of discarded Mac hair to the ground so it would no t blow away in the breeze which ruffled the hybrid poplar.
    Jack opened the door. “Hey, Mac! Where’s my boy?”
    Mac rolled onto his belly, up on his stubby legs, and pounded toward the steps. Jack went out on the deck to meet him. He went down on his knees when Mac reached him and excitement transformed the stubby little dog into a miniature whirlwind.
    Jack laughed, grabbed MacKlutzy and held him still so he could be stroked, rubbed, patted and scratched in all the places Mac loved.
    Mel came up the steps with brush, comb and hair in hand. “Is Dale here?”
    I canted my head back. “In the kitchen, kneading biscuit dough.”
    “Where’s the cookie cutters?” Dale yelled.
    “ In the drawer next to the fridge,” I called back over my shoulder.
    Mel wiped the back of her hand over her brow. “Phew, it’s getting hot out here.” Then she grimace d . “Do I have Mac hair stuck to my face? Yuck!”
    We