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mother’s regular features and fair skin. Her height and lithe build she got from the old man, as did Shaw. Goodman, the eldest at thirty-six, was a throwback to some distant Larue—a big bear of a man with an unruly thatch of reddish brown curls and a beard to match.
    Good had been in the office all afternoon, struggling with the books as the end of the month neared. Knowing how grouchy that usually made him, Dorsey had given him a wide berth for most of her shift. At one minute past five, she locked the front door and fed the cats their dinner. She finished all the other closing-up-shop tasks, then spent an hour or so restocking some shelves she hadn’t got to earlier. On her way out the back, she stopped by the office to let her brother know she was leaving.
    “Good?” She knocked tentatively on the frame of the office door to get his attention. “I’m taking off now, okay?”
    It didn’t look like he had made much headway with the books. Invoices and other paperwork littered the desk. A calculator and an adding machine held down stacks of more papers. Good had his head in his hands and was chewing on a pencil. He sat up, glancing at his watch, then leaned back and stretched.
    “Yeah,” he agreed, sounding tired and frustrated. “I’m getting nowhere with these books anyhow.”
    “You need an accountant,” Dorsey said, knowing what his answer would be.
    “Can’t afford it,” Good promptly replied. Dorsey mouthed the words along with him. He shook his head at her, then laughed out loud. He stood and started clearing up the books and papers on his desk.
    “Look, you want to go get a beer at The Hamlet?” he said. “My brain is fried. I’ll even buy the first round. I think I can still afford that, as long as you get something domestic.”
    “Well, yeah,” she said, both surprised and gladdened by his suggestion. He had been so grumpy lately she couldn’t remember the last time she’d shared a beverage or a meal with her oldest brother. He was always too busy with the store.
    As they walked the two blocks over to the sole bar within Romeo Falls’ city limits, the rain had dissipated to just a few random drops. Blue sky was reappearing through some gaps in the cloud cover. The air felt clear and fresh. Main Street was deserted as they crossed it, dodging puddles, to make their way toward the cheerfully blinking neon lights of The Hamlet. Mrs. Gargoyle rolled slowly by in her police cruiser, then stopped as she came abreast. She lowered her window.
    “Goodman. Dorsey Lee.” She blew a small bubblegum bubble, then popped it loudly. Everyone knew Luke wouldn’t let her smoke in the patrol car.
    “Evening, Officer,” Goodman amiably hailed her. “Looks like the rain’s clearing up for us.”
    “Too bad—I wish it would keep raining,” she retorted combatively. “Keeps the troublemakers off the streets, if you know what I mean, especially with school out. Can you believe when I got home last night, some little hoodlum had chopped the heads off every single one of my carnations? You know, the pink-and-white ones that line my front walk? Damn kids,” she added, under her breath. “I swear, sometimes it seems like switching from the junior high school to this job was no change whatsoever.”
    Goodman and Dorsey expressed their condolences for the carnations.
    “Well, I guess it could have been worse,” said Mrs. Gargoyle philosophically. “At least the little bast—I mean, uh, rascal took the flower heads with him or her, so I didn’t have to clean up anything. Damn kids,” she said again, shaking her head. “They’ll be sorry when I catch them, that’s for damn sure.”
    “Any clues?” Good asked.
    “No, but I’ve got my suspicions,” she said darkly.
    “How about that other thing?” Dorsey said. “The vandalized sign out on the highway?”
    “The chief’s working that one himself at the mayor’s request,” Gargoyle said, rather pompously, Dorsey thought. “It’s a