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left it for awhile. But it’s home, Sam.”
    Sam nodded. “Yes, it is. If only our little sister would figure that out…”
    “Taylor has the wanderlust.” Wanderlust hadn’t been Wil’s problem, but he was tired of trying to explain his life’s choices. “Have you heard from her lately?”
    “I get e-mails from her, but nothing personal. Usually insipid jokes I’ve seen a dozen times, or some sentimental slop. She sends them en masse, so you probably get them, too.”
    “I get forwards, but as you say, nothing with any news about her or where she is.” Although Wil had her cell phone number, he couldn’t remember using it since their father’s stroke. “Maybe I’ll see if she’ll come home for Thanksgiving. It’d be good for Dad to have all of us at the house.”
    Sam guffawed. “Why? Are
you
cooking?”
    The crazy idea of inviting Elizabeth Stevens, the woman who’d lost all her family in a tragic fire, popped into his mind. Holidays must be lonely for her. “Maybe I will.”

    Elizabeth shoved the carton of Italian ice into Sunny’s cramped freezer. “Miller’s IGA didn’t have spumoni, but this is Italian.”
    Ian turned from the steaming pot on the range. “It was nice of you to bring dessert.”
    She backed out of the apartment’s cramped kitchen. “It’s the least I could do if you’re cooking me dinner.”
    “It seems wrong, doesn’t it?” Ian said.
    “Your cooking dinner?”
    “The three of us having a fun night of spaghetti when Cathleen Hodges has died. I feel guilty—”
    “I know what you mean, Ian. She’s been on my mind all day.”
    Sunny reached past Elizabeth to grab the bottle of Chianti on the counter. “Mine, too, but going without dinner won’t bring her back.”
    “We’ll toast Cathleen’s memory at dinner.” Elizabeth followed Sunny to the dining table.
    Like most apartments of its vintage, Sunny and Ian’s had a narrow galley kitchen with an L-shaped living and dining area. Sliding glass doors off the dining area led to a claustrophobic nightmare of a balcony. One of the two bedrooms was crowded with computer equipment and various electronics—Sunny referred to it as Ian’s inner sanctum. Elizabeth couldn’t deal with such chaos, but Sunny didn’t seem to mind. She managed to keep the rest of the apartment tidy and clean, evidently banishing Ian to the one room.
    Sunny’s blond hair was pulled into a short ponytail, with wayward strands feathering her face. She placed wineglasses beside each plate. The dishes resembled Elizabeth’s own, plain white Corelle, nothing fancy but very serviceable. She’d immediately been drawn to Sunny’s no-nonsense efficiency.
    I
like efficiency in a woman
.
    Wilson Drake’s words from this morning tumbled into her mind. Thoughts of the guy intruded entirely too often to suit her. The last thing she needed was involvement with a man, especially a lawman. Intimacy carried too high a price. How could she build a relationship on a lie? Her body seemed to ignore her warnings, however, and warmed at fantasies involving the handsome sheriff.
    Except for toasting Cathleen, Elizabeth intended to drop the subject of their friend’s murder. Not only was it distressing dinner conversation, but it especially disturbed Elizabeth. She couldn’t shake the irrational notion that she had brought death to Drake Springs.
    Sunny handed her the Chianti and a corkscrew. “Are you any good with these things? I’m pitiful.”
    “Sure.” She couldn’t admit as much, but she’d opened more bottles of wine than she could remember for parties when she’d been in vet school. Elizabeth Stevens attended Georgia, not Auburn, though. It wouldn’t do to dwell on secret memories, so she pushed aside the thoughts as forcefully as she punctured the cork in the Chianti bottle.
    “Ian’s no better at opening wine than I am. If it’s not computer coded, forget it.”
    She handed Sunny the opened bottle. “Except for cooking.”
    “Don’t get