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    When we walked in the front door of the house, a crash of metal clanged against the tile floor in the kitchen. “Dad?” I called out as I took off my winter coat.
    “I’m all right!” he answered.
    Nathan followed me to the kitchen where we found my father with a pile of pots and pans scattered around his feet. He shrugged his shoulders as he looked around at them. “I pulled out the bottom one, and they all fell,” he explained.
    We helped pick them up.
    Once all the cookware was tucked back in the cabinet, Dad’s eyes settled on Nathan. “Detective McNamara, I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.”
    Nathan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Sloan invited me. I hope that’s OK.”
    My father squeezed Nathan’s arm. “Of course it is. You’re always welcome here. I just assumed you would be with your family today.”
    Nathan shook his head. “Sloan and I are heading to Raleigh tomorrow to see them.”
    Dad’s eyes widened, and he cast his gaze down at me. “Oh, really?”
    “His sister’s burial service is this weekend, so I’m going with him,” I said.  
    “Oh.” Dad’s shoulders sagged. “Please send my condolences.”
    Nathan nodded. “I will, sir. Thank you.”
    Dad stepped over to the coffee pot. “Would you like some coffee, Detective?”
    “Please, Dr. Jordan. Call me, Nathan,” he said.
    My dad smiled. “As long as you promise to call me Robert.”
    Nathan grinned as Dad handed him a cup. “Deal.” Nathan motioned toward the den behind us. “Do you mind if I turn on the television?”
    I giggled. “Nathan wants to watch the parade.”
    Dad held out his hands. “Be my guest.”
    I pulled out a barstool at the counter. “I want some coffee, Dad.”
    He shook his head. “Not in your condition, Sloan. It isn’t healthy.”
    Nathan glanced back at me as he turned on the parade. “You can’t have coffee now?”
    Dad poured his own mug full and shook his head. “No. Caffeine isn’t good for the ba—”
    “My panic disorder!” I shouted to interrupt him with a loaded glare. “I’m not supposed to have caffeine due to my anxiety. Right, Dad?”
    Dad looked at me, then at Nathan and back at me before a mental light bulb flickered on. “Oh, yes. Caffeine is no good for your anxiety, Sloan.”
    Nathan settled onto the barstool next to mine. “Oh man. That’s bad news for everyone if Sloan can’t have coffee in the morning. That was the only thing standing between all of us and a beheading before ten A.M.”
    I elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up.”
    He grinned over the rim of his cup.
    “So, Dad, what’s on the menu for today?” I asked, leaning on my elbows.
    He stepped across the kitchen. “Well, I went to the grocery store this morning and bought a turkey.” He pulled the refrigerator door open and lifted out the plastic covered bird. He set it down with a heavy thud on the marble counter top.  
    My eyes doubled in size. “How big is that thing?”
    He looked at the tag. “Twenty-two pounds. Do you think it’s big enough?” He wasn’t joking.
    “It’s only you, me, and Nathan eating, right?” I asked.
    He nodded.  
    I exchanged a smile with Nathan and chuckled. “Surely, it’s plenty.” I got up and walked over to the turkey. “Now, does anyone know how to cook one of these things?”
    No one answered.
    I looked around at them. “Fantastic. Nathan, can you Google directions on your phone for how to cook a turkey?”
    He whipped out his cell phone, and I carried the bird to the sink. “This thing is frozen solid,” I said. “Can we cook frozen meat?”
    My dad shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It will thaw as it cooks, right?”
    I shrugged. “I guess so.”
    “All these directions say to thaw the turkey first,” Nathan said, glancing up from his phone. “Then you cook it on 325 degrees for 4 to 4 ½ hours.”
    Dad cocked his head to the side. “Well, if we start with it frozen, why don’t we kick up the temperature a little to