We sat in silence for some time. I felt the soft rise and fall of his chest and thanked God—hoping He hadn’t grown tired of me thanking him for the umpteenth time—that this man was in my life. That he was with me. With me on the couch, with me when I slept at night, with me on dark January mornings, with me when we shoveled snow together and did the thousand mundane things of life that I used to do on my own.

My mind drifted back to our wedding day. It had snowed the night before. The church steps and grounds were dusted in white. White and pale pink roses were ribboned to the pews, and everywhere I looked were milk-colored vases overflowing with white roses, white freesias, and green foliage. Flowers in December.

I wore a long, ivory-colored skirt and beaded ivory top. James wore a dark suit, though Julia, before coming to her senses, had suggested he wear white in order to “match.” Holly had been my maid of honor, with no hard feelings on Julia’s part because, as she’d pointed out, “At my age I refuse to be a maid of anything.” Instead she’d handled the flower duties. And done beautifully.

What’s the protocol? Are brides supposed to take vases of flowers home with them after the ceremony? I did. More than one. Gilroy and I weren’t going on a honeymoon and I wanted to fill the house with flowers. The honeymoon would come in April.

“Any Mystery Gang breakthroughs?” Gilroy suddenly asked.

He was in a mood to talk. Good. I told him everything, starting with our conclusion that Charlotte was snooping in town records for Brodie but that the two lovebirds probably weren’t Mary’s blackmailers. “I talked to Joan Hudson in the Records Section at Town Hall.”

His arm came off my shoulder.

“Town Hall, James. I wasn’t alone in the forest at night. We also found Brodie’s accident and Isak’s so-called misconduct online, so anyone else could have too.”

He nodded. “Turner found both. It’s still unclear exactly what Karlsen did.”

“Misconduct.”

“Eamon Keegan almost died.”

“At the bakery Holly told Brodie about the car accident in the painting and she said he was genuinely shocked. He’d never seen it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Even if he’d seen the painting, he wouldn’t have examined it that closely.”

“You know what Turner couldn’t have found but we did? The addition Dalton made to Hidden Little Town Number 8.” I paused briefly to milk the moment. “It was a red and white cane like blind people use, lying in the grass next to Laura.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“We compared the image of the painting on his website with the photo I took of it at the brunch. Holly saw it, actually.”

“Great idea.”

I wrapped my hands around my cup to warm them. One way or another, we were replacing our leaky windows in the spring. “Why add one more visual allegory on Laura’s lack of artistry or inability to observe?”

“Whoever requested the change could tell us that.”

“Holly suggested I talk to Shelly Todd, Laura’s neighbor. She gave me her number.”

“Shelly Todd found the body.”

I angled in my seat to face him. “I’d really like to talk with her, James.”

“She’s not a suspect.”

Gilroy’s code for I can’t stop you. “Laura wasn’t blind. She was staring at Dalton’s painting at the brunch, she was driving a car. So why did she go ballistic over a cane and why did Dalton add it to his magnum opus?”

“Try not to ask her about the crime itself, okay? If she offers, fine. Remember you’re a civilian.”

“I’ll remember.” I faced forward again and rested my head on his shoulder. “Laura knew Dalton used his paintings to spread gossip.”

“I remember what she said. How it was amazing he’d found so much to gossip about.”

“But painting Brodie’s car accident was cruel, even for him.”

“The two had no connection prior to Keegan moving to Juniper Grove. Not family or friends, not work, nothing. I don’t know why Taylor would harbor that level of animosity. Seems like he was a bitter man.”

“When we talked, I saw a glimmer or two of kindness in him.” Suddenly I remembered Gilroy hadn’t seen the winter landscape. I put my cup on the coffee table, hurried into the kitchen, and returned with the painting, holding it in front of me, waiting for his judgment.

“Taylor painted that?”

“I know, right? It’s so different. It’s even different from his other landscapes.”

“It’s not half bad.”

“Half bad? It’s beautiful. He captured winter itself on canvas. I’d like to hang it in the house. In my office, if you’d rather.”

Gilroy sat forward and held out his hands. I relinquished the painting.

He studied it, at first taking in the whole thing, then focusing on its parts.

“What do you think?” I asked.

He took a moment to answer. “This reminds me of something.”

“That’s the feeling I get too. Nostalgia, almost. Do you know this place?”

“I don’t think so. There aren’t any mountains.”

I sat next to him. Why did the painting affect me so? Perhaps it was its melancholy aspect: the perfectly executed clouds, the winter-gray fields, the huddling birds. “Isak and Charlotte want me to sell it through Aspen Leaf Gallery. And before you ask, I went to see how Shasta was doing. Isak was there, and Charlotte came over with a letter from Roche and White stating that it’s legal for the gallery to show Dalton’s paintings.”

“That was fast.”

“Charlotte’s fast. She said Harry Davis, the attorney, wanted to put the Karlsens’ minds at ease so she volunteered to bring the letter. Roche and White didn’t send her. They easily could’ve called or emailed or even sent a courier. The only hitch is, Roche and White don’t know for sure if the gallery can sell any of the paintings.”

“I imagine that would depend on Taylor’s will.”

“Exactly.”

“But they could sell your landscape.”

“I’d get seventy-five percent.”

“Are you tempted?”

“Nah. I’d like to help Clay and Isak, but this was a gift, and I really like it.”

“Keep it. Hang it anywhere you want.”