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the chief said, frowning.
    “There’re always the fingerprints, Chief,” Sammy said.
    The chief growled softly. Obviously he didn’t think the fingerprints would help. I could understand his point. Having seen Jane Doe, I had a hard time imagining her getting fingerprinted. Manicured, yes, but fingerprinted?
    The big meeting fizzled after that. The chief stomped out, obviously irritated. Sammy tried to make us all look at the photos again, but everybody ignored him. Instead, they all snuffled around the refreshment table, eating the last of the cookies and
wearing the vexed expression of dinner guests left too long to forage on the appetizers.
    Except for the college students. I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or find their directness refreshing.
    “So, what’s for dinner?” one of them asked—the redhead who’d been flirting with me, and who seemed not to notice when I pointedly referred to the tall, dark, and handsome Michael as my fiancé.
    “We thought people could fend for themselves,” I said. “It’s a college town—plenty of affordable places.”
    “Maybe you could recommend one?”
    “Luigi’s,” I said. “Great pizza. Awesome selection of beers, or so I’m told; I’m not a big beer drinker.”
    “We’ll have wine, then,” he said. “My treat.”
    “Sorry,” I said. “My fiancé and I have other plans.”
    “Ah, well,” he said, shrugging. “Another time.”
    I gave him directions, ignoring the fact that he was giving me what my college roommate and I used to call “puppy dog eyes.” I hadn’t liked the whole mournful hangdog act then, and I didn’t like it now. He snapped out of it fast enough when he rejoined his teammates and they all hurried out to their car.
    Was I imagining things, or was their departure not just hasty but downright furtive?
    What if I had misinterpreted their behavior when Chief Burke showed us Jane Doe’s photo? I’d assumed it was the knee-jerk reaction of young men
who expect to be blamed for anything that goes wrong when they’re around. What if I’d seen real guilt? After all, none of the deputies knew her, which made it more plausible that none of the locals did, either. But someone knew her well enough to kill her. And the students, like Jane Doe, were strangers. What if—
    “Meg?” asked Rob, standing at my elbow. “You okay? You have a funny look on your face.”
    “I’m fine,” I said. Fine, except that I was starting to think like Dad, who saw everything as a potential clue in a real-life version of his beloved mysteries. The students probably just wanted to flee the company of so many old fogies. Evan Briggs, the developer, had spent the first half of our lunch break haranguing them for their feckless failure to major in business administration, and Mrs. Pruitt used the rest to interrogate them about their family histories and genealogies. Probably wise to vanish—Dad had recently developed a renewed interest in healthy eating, and had already remarked that he didn’t think the students ate enough fiber.
    For another thing, if I had to suspect someone of deception, why not Evan Briggs, who wanted to erect the world’s largest outlet mall in our backyard? Who, after driving his wife to the game, couldn’t possibly have spent every minute of the day watching the players and chatting with Dad. I glanced around to see what the developer was up to.
    Talking with Rose Noire. And not enjoying it, from his expression. Rose Noire’s intense interest in New Age subjects daunted most people. Her sweeping
arm gestures suggested that she was telling him about the conversations she’d had this afternoon with the larger oak and poplar trees in Mr. Shiffley’s woods. She’d developed a passionate interest in trees lately. I wondered how she’d react when she found out that Evan Briggs was planning to cut down hundreds of her beloved trees.
    “What’s up?” Dad said, appearing at my elbow. “Any good clues?”

 
     
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