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done. She’d vowed her tangle with the car last summer wouldn’t hold her back.
    Today, she’d test her endurance running and find out what needed cleaning at Ryan’s. She could handle going to his house. Stress pulled at her neck. After two deep breaths, the strain eased. No problem.
    Her stomach growled, and her thoughts jumped to yesterday’s lunch. When Liam had returned from making his call, a new tension had lingered in the air, and he’d seemed distracted.
    She’d filled him in on her brief phone conversation with Sullivan about the online funeral picture. Although the action wasn’t illegal, the chief promised her he would get it deleted and find the poster.
    Liam had nodded, but an uncomfortable silence had continued between them. She should never have mentioned the police’s suspicions of him. Had he regretted inviting her to the Moose after she’d questioned him about his fight with Ryan? Maybe seeing her after five years brought up conflicting emotions. Seeing him again had sure had that effect on her. She’d excused herself after a few bites, despite his protests.
    The backfire of a passing motorbike brought her back to the present. Pedestrian traffic was sparse on the sidewalk as she headed north.
    Flo, in her trademark beehive hairdo and skintight top and leggings, was unlocking the salon’s door. She waved to Lucy from the opposite side of the street. “Stop in, honey. I’ll give you a free cut.”
    “Thanks, Flo.” Lucy returned the wave and recalled the “new do” ritual as she continued on her way. After the women enjoyed Flo’s services, they went to the church and the Moose to show off their latest style. Lucy picked up her speed as more memories of her life in Barley flooded her.
    Gramps’s stroke had left him helpless, and his care had occupied all her non-work hours. She and Ryan had argued over how to deal with his illness until Ryan had placed him in the nursing home. He’d been legally in charge of Gramps’s medical needs.
    At the corner, the “walk” light flashed for her to wait. Ahead stood the familiar white-steepled church. A few years ago, she would have dropped in and allowed the peace and quiet to soothe her nerves. Too bad she was done with houses of worship.
    “I love you, Lucy.”
    “Matt?” She jerked her gaze to the street and then behind her. The usual traffic lumbered past on its way to towns with more tourists and cooler stores. Two men hurried by her, talking about the best deal on riding mowers.
    She shivered. Okay, her mind was playing tricks. Matt couldn’t be here. He didn’t know where she’d gone, did he? Then again, where was he?
    Goose bumps popped up on her arms. The “walk” light flashed to green. Tilting her chin upward, she took off, but sent fleeting glances over her surroundings. The window of Hannah’s Gift Shop advertised handmade soaps and New Hampshire maple syrup. An awning over the door rattled in the breeze.
    “Lucy Watson! Lucy!”
    She slowed. Isabella— or Bella— Jackman darted across the road.
    “Bella, are you okay?”
    “No.” The young woman gulped a breath. Mascara ran down her wet cheeks. “The police want to ask me more questions, but I refused. I’m afraid if I go into the station, they won’t let me out. They think I shot Ryan.” Tears clouded her eyes, and she wiped her hand over them, smearing more of her makeup. “Why did you tell them I killed him? I wanted to marry him. I can’t marry a dead man.”
    “You’re confused. I never said you killed him.” The girl needed to get a grip, yet there was something sad and needy about her.
    “Then why did the chief want to talk to me again?”
    “Isabella, I’m sure he interviews everyone several times before he has all the facts.”
    “Police make me nervous.” She glanced around as if she expected Chief Sullivan to pop out with handcuffs. “He’s looking for someone to arrest. I moved to Barley because my brother told me the town was full of