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honesty I could bring to that answer.
    “So you’ve known him for a while then.”
    “Only a few months, actually,” I said. “What about him?”
    “It’s only that he’s been hanging around the tavern a lot lately. He spends his time nursing drinks and asking a lot of questions about our family—Colin, Peter, and me, that is. How did Colin and I meet? How long were we married when Peter was born?” She paused. “Are there any other oversized redheads in the family? That one almost earned him a sock in the eye.”
    “He offended Colin?”
    “No, he offended me. Even if he wasn’t implying anything by it, he still asked a whole lot more questions than a person might consider polite.”
    “He’s a bit lacking in social skills, but he’s harmless.”
    “I don’t care. I don’t like it, and I don’t like him.” Her eyes glowed with anger.
    “I’ll talk to him about it, tell him—”
    “No. I’m being silly,” she backtracked suddenly, waving a hand. “Don’t mention it to him.”
    The door shook as someone tried the handle. “We’re closed. Come back at five,” she called out without budging from her chair. An insistent, authoritative knock sounded on the door.
    Another knock came, this time much louder, and uniformed police officers appeared around the corner at the window. My heart rose in my throat as Claire and I exchanged a glance. Claire was a slight woman, but she pushed herself up from the table as if all the gravity in the world had dropped down on her. She struggled with the lock and then flung the door open wide. Detective Cook stood there, haloed by the sunlight that was pouring in around him.
    “Mrs. Tierney,” he began, “is your husband here? I’d like to talk to the two of you.”
    “Peter,” I said, jumping up and rushing to the door. “Is Peter all right?”
    “Hello, Miss Taylor,” he said, obviously not thrilled to find me there. “Don’t worry. This has nothing to do with Peter.”
    Claire let herself breathe. “Come in, officer.”
    Cook stepped into the room, followed by the same uniformed officers who had been peering through the window. “Your husband?” he asked.
    “Colin isn’t here right now. He’s disputing a bill with a distributor. He’ll be back before we open for the night. What is this about?” Cook looked over at me, and Claire surmised his thoughts. “It’s fine. She’s family.”
    I realized that he viewed me as every bit as much of a bother, an inconvenience, as I saw him. I felt a bit slighted, even though I had no right to. Adam looked at me, curious about how I’d managed to make the leap from a kind of, sort of girlfriend to part of the Tierney clan. We hadn’t made the pregnancy public knowledge, and as yet there were no official wedding plans to relay.
    “All right.” He pulled an old Polaroid out of his coat pocket. The picture had been wrapped in a clear evidence bag. “Do you recognize this picture?”
    Claire took the bag into her hands and focused on its contents. Her legs collapsed out from under her as she fell heavily into a chair. I took the one next to her and reached out without asking permission and snatched it from her hand. The plastic somewhat obscured the picture, but the image was instantly recognizable. It was a photo of Peter’s father, Colin, and Claire holding a baby. It had to be Peter, but the child looked so scrawny and sickly I found it hard to accept that it could be. I focused on the background and realized that the photo had been taken in the very room where we sat.
    Adam reached over and took the picture from me. “Mrs. Tierney?”
    “Yes,” she said, regaining her composure. “Obviously. I don’t know who might have taken it, but it’s from when we first brought the baby—I mean, Peter—home. Where did you find it?”
    “Are any family or friends visiting you right now?”
    “No. No one,” she said, but then repeated, “Where did you find this picture?”
    “We got a call this morning