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But what catches my attention is the evidence board.

An actual fucking evidence board.

Complete with photographs, newspaper clippings, and red string.

I stop walking. “Rachel.”

She freezes. “Oh, shit.”

I point toward the wall. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

She looks at the board. Then at me. “Define joke.”

I close my eyes.

“It’s a hobby!”

“Most people collect stamps.”

“Most people are boring.”

I approach the board.

It’s covered in photographs, handwritten notes, and several pieces of red string connecting various clues.

I study it. Then frown.

“Is this a… I don’t know what you call it… mood board for your brother’s bakery?”

Rachel beams. “YES!”

I burst out laughing.

“Okay,” she announces, setting her purse on the counter. “Before we proceed, I have a very important question.”

I turn. “What’s that?”

“Do you approach everything like it’s an active investigation?”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Interesting.”

She approaches me. Slowly. Deliberately. And with a smile that makes every intelligent thought in my head disappear.

“Then perhaps you’ve noticed something.”

I cross my arms. “Such as?”

She stops directly in front of me.

“That I’ve been trying to get you alone for six hours.”

I grin. “Seven.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Seven?”

“I’ve been counting.”


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