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tomorrow.”
    Aunt Clara stamped her foot. “Outrageous. Why aren’t you out on the street looking for whoever killed Donald?”
    â€œWe’re doing what needs to be done,” Frank explained. “There could be some trace evidence from his clothes or shoes. There could be something hedropped when he fell. The medical examiner will go over everything carefully. That’s how we solve crimes. I’m sorry for your loss, Clara, and your inconvenience.”
    Ryan came in as the medical examiner’s team was leaving. He was in such a hurry to get to Maggie that he didn’t notice Frank until the detective grabbed him by his dark wool jacket.
    â€œDidn’t I have a conversation with you about Donald Wickerson?” Frank was in Ryan’s surprised face. “Didn’t I tell you to let the system work? But you couldn’t let your theories go.”
    Ryan was defensive. “I told the story the way I thought it should be told. You can’t tell me what to print. This couldn’t go on. I was protecting Clara, and everyone else, by alerting the public—something you weren’t willing to do.”
    â€œI know you didn’t pull the trigger,” Frank argued, “but your story could’ve been the catalyst for Wickerson’s murder. Did you think of that? What time did the paper begin spreading the word this morning? If someone from his past knew he was here in Durham, it might’ve been enough to set them off.”
    Ryan didn’t look remorseful. “The first papers are on the street at four a.m. I did what I thought was best. I realize a man is dead, but he was a killer himself. Sometimes those things end badly.”
    Frank let go of his jacket. “I can’t do anything to you, but stay out of my way on this.”
    â€œSure.” Ryan watched him leave, his bright blue eyes wary. He turned to Maggie as soon as they were alone and hugged her. “Are you two okay? I’m so sorry, Aunt Clara. I really only did this to protect you. Maggie didn’t have the heart to tell you the truth about Donald. I knew I had to do something.”
    â€œI know you meant well,” Aunt Clara said. “I think you and Maggie were way off track about him.”
    â€œI’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you all to leave,” one of the crime scene techs said. “We’ll give you a call when you can come back.”
    Ryan glanced at his watch. “Let’s go down to the sub shop by the office. They’re having two-for-one today. We can talk there.”
    Ryan drove them to Betty’s Subs in his late-model Honda. Maggie had been thinking about buying a car with her severance, but she couldn’t convince Aunt Clara to stop walking to the pie shop. It seemed pointless to have a car and not use it. They were still in negotiations.
    Betty English called out a cheery hello as they entered her sandwich shop. It was cleverly decorated to look like the inside of a submarine to go with the name of her place, Betty’s Subs. She’d had students draw and paint pictures of cartoon character Betty Boop all over the walls. It was a very popular place for Duke students and teachers.
    Maggie and Aunt Clara had never eaten therebefore they’d met Ryan. He ate there all the time—it was cheap and close to the newspaper office.
    Now they were regulars. Betty gave them a special deal when they came. Aunt Clara reciprocated by giving Betty specials on pies when she visited them.
    â€œHey!” Betty, a large, energetic woman with curly dark hair, called them over. “I heard what happened at Pie in the Sky. That had to be scary. Was he trying to rob you? Did you shoot him, or was it a customer that shot him?”
    Maggie clarified, reminded of the old axiom about how rumors get started. “No one in the pie shop shot him. It happened somewhere else. He wasn’t there to rob us. He was Aunt Clara’s boyfriend.