“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll get out of your hair and let you and Eva get on with your day.”

She turned and slipped through the gate in the transom then stepped down onto the swim platform. Spenser was just about to step up onto the dock when Russell called out to her. She stopped and turned around.

“Sheriff, it’s a lovely day,” he said. “Why don’t you stick around? We’ll have some cocktails and I’m going to have a wonderful lobster dinner sent in. Why don’t you join us?”

She laughed. “Tempting,” she said. “But some of us don’t have the luxury of being able to play hooky on nice days.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m sure there are some bikinis below deck that would fit you. And I’d be willing to bet a large sum of money that you’d look absolutely fantastic in them.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Russell,” she said. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything more.”

“Please do,” he replied.

His tone was smarmy and disgusting and set Spenser’s skin crawling once more. She turned and headed back to the parking lot to make the hour and a half drive back to Sweetwater Falls with little more than she had when she’d set out that morning. If nothing else, though, she was pretty sure she could remove Joel Russell from the suspect pool.

She only wished she could arrest him for being a pig.

“Sounds like the guy is living the dream,” Ryker said.

Spenser arched an eyebrow and looked at him. “Living the dream, huh?”

“What? I meant the whole, playing hooky to go have drinks on your yacht or blowing town to go on shopping spree,” he said. “Not the whole dating gorgeous young women who enjoy wearing next to nothing thing. That’s his dream. That’s not my dream.”

Ryker gave her a wink that made Spenser laugh out loud. “Don’t be a pig. I thought better of you than that.”

“That was probably your first mistake.”

Spenser squealed and slapped him playfully on the arm. “You’re such a jerk.”

He laughed as he slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled Spenser closer. They sat on a bench in the town square sipping hot cocoa and listening to the string quartet on stage playing spiced up versions of classical music. It was a beautiful night, the music was perfect, and the company was even better. After a long and ultimately frustrating and fruitless day, it was just what she needed.

“So, he’s not your guy, huh?” Ryker asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll have to confirm his alibi, of course, but I don’t think so. He’s a creep but I don’t think he’s a murderer.”

“If nothing else, at least you can close the door on one avenue of investigation.”

“There’s that,” she replied. “But just once, I’d like it if a case was obvious right from the start. I think that would be really nice.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. I think you’re the one who told me no investigation moves from point A to point B in a straight line.”

Spenser grinned. “They don’t. I’m just saying it would be nice.”

Spenser laid her head on Ryker’s shoulder, and they fell silent for a few minutes, letting the music wash over them. Several dozen people sat on blankets in front of the bandstand sipping wine and listening to the musicians. She really enjoyed that local artists from a wide variety of mediums and genres put on these performances, some of them planned, others impromptu, just to entertain the town. It was cozy, and every performance was unique.

“So, what’s your next step?” Ryker asked.

“We’ll work from the inside out. Start interviewing the people closest to him,” she replied. “I’m going to have a conversation with his girlfriend tomorrow.”

“I’m calling it now—she did it,” Ryker said.

“Yeah? Where’s your proof?”

“It’s always the significant other.”

Spenser laughed. “Sounds like somebody’s been watching a lot of true crime shows.”

He gave her a nonchalant shrug. “I wouldn’t say a lot, per se. But enough to know it seems like the significant other is always guilty.”

“If only my investigations could be wrapped up as easily as they are on TV.”

“That would be nice.”

Spenser sipped her cocoa. “So, how is the cider business?”

“Finally got all the trees in and I’m learning everything I can about making cider,” he said. “I’ve got some time yet to refine the craft and make sure I’m doing it right.”

“I have zero doubt you’re going to be a success at this and I’m looking forward to trying your first batch off the press.”

“Oh, you’re sure you’re going to get the first batch, huh?”

“I better.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Spenser nudged him with her elbow. “Such a jerk.”

Ryker quickly sat up, his body growing tense. Spenser followed his gaze and saw Kyra Foster coming their way. Dressed in a plaid skirt with several chains wrapped around her hip, black fishnet stockings, and chunky knee-high boots with four-inch soles, she stood out among the cheese-nibbling, wine-swilling crowd on the lawn in front of the bandstand. Kyra’s dark eyes with the darker makeup around them were laser-focused on Spenser and she had a smug curl to the corners of her mouth.

“Wonderful,” Spenser muttered.

In some ways, Spenser was still trying to get her footing back after Kyra’s hatchet job on her. People weren’t openly talking, but Spenser was still catching strange sidelong glances as she moved around town. People were curious and she couldn’t necessarily blame them. The article Kyra printed was incredibly light on fact but was salacious and titillating to invite that curiosity, speculation, and of course, gossip, which was the coin of the realm in Sweetwater Falls.

“Sheriff Song, lovely to see you again,” Kyra said with saccharine sweetness.

“What do you want, Kyra?”

“My last article seems to have gained a little traction. It’s the highest viewed article in the history of the Dispatch.”

“Congratulations,” Spenser said. “I’m sure you’re very proud.”

“Thanks. I am.”

“Next time, you should try writing something that isn’t a complete work of fiction.”