“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.”
“Fiction?” Kyra scoffed.
“Did I stutter?”
“What exactly was fiction?”
“Everything after your byline.”
Kyra’s pale face darkened, and she looked at Spener with an expression of pure indignation on her face. She stood up a little straighter.
“That’s a very serious allegation,” she said.
“Just calling it like I see it.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to set the record straight, Sheriff.”
“And why would I give you any more oxygen than you’ve already sucked out of this world?”
“I would think that you’d want to get your side of the story out there.”
