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get a walk in before dinner.”
    “Oh, you like walking, do you?”
    “I do. I find it clears my mind, and I feel so much better afterwards. And the exercise is good for my dog.”
    “What kind of dog?”
    Her face lit up at the very thought of Rupert. “He’s a corgi. The same kind of dog the Queen has, only mine’s got three colors and hers only have two. Her dogs are red and white. Mine has a mainly black coat with red and white points. I bring him to work every now and then, so you’ll meet him soon, I’m sure. Do you like dogs?”
    After telling her he did, Aaron said good-night and left.
    Charlotte entered a couple of reminders for tomorrow in her daybook, closed it, and switched off the desk lamp. The dress Lauren had tried on was still draped over the dressing screen, but Charlotte decided to leave it there and let Aaron deal with it in the morning. After one last look around to make sure everything was tidied away, she closed the door to her workroom and locked it.
    Fifteen minutes later, she locked the door of her bungalow, and with Rupert on his leash, the two set off on the short walk into town.
    Walkers Ridge had always depended on tourism, and now the tourists were starting to come back. The area had long been a popular destination for artists and musicians and was rediscovering and repositioning itself as a beacon for photographers, yoga enthusiasts, hikers, and antique collectors, as well as, because of its rich, fertile farmland, a Mecca for New York City foodies keen to experience the farm-to-table experience and devour vegetables sofresh they’d been in the ground or on the vine until the very morning they were served.
    Bentley’s Bistro featured daily specials showcasing local ingredients and served only craft beers from a Catskills brewery. Next door, the Upper Crust Bakery served warm croissants and freshly brewed specialty coffees, and further on down the street, an ice cream parlor offered homemade ice cream made with real cream from cows almost within walking distance. Boutiques sold vintage clothing like paisley-patterned peasant skirts and tie-dyed T-shirts, as well as handmade jewelry and candles. The heady smells of patchouli and incense wafted from some of the shops, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think it was 1968 all over again.
    But Charlotte paid no attention to the stores as she and Rupert trotted along the back streets of the town until they reached Helm Street, the main thoroughfare. She slowed down to a walk and a few minutes later arrived at her destination. She pushed open the door to the police station, conveniently located beside the town hall; both were made of brick that had been painted white.
    “Hello, Gus,” she said to the front-desk officer seated behind the glass screen. “Is he in?”
    “Sure is. He’s expecting you. Just knock and go on in.”
    She knocked on the office door and poked her head around it. Walkers Ridge Chief of Police Ray Nicholson looked up from his computer and, with a confident smile,came around the side of the desk and reached behind her to close the door.
    “Afternoon, ma’am. What can I do for you?”
    He was a couple of inches over six feet tall and well built. The definition of his biceps, visible even under his blue shirt, attested to hours in the gym lifting weights. His neatly trimmed dark hair was starting to grey at the temples, adding to his natural air of authority.
    Charlotte put her arms around his neck, and he bent down and kissed her.

Chapter 7
    Charlotte and Ray had met about six months ago, when she and Rupert had found a small white dog running loose on the village green. Unsure if it was lost or abandoned, but certain it was in distress, Charlotte had offered it a few of Rupert’s dog treats, and not knowing what else to do, she had taken the dog to the nearby police station. Ray had seemed very interested in the dog’s welfare and promised he would make sure the little fellow was cared for. He’d taken