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He gave me a wry smile. “I know. Mom called me. I know you tried.” He shook his head. “She also told me that if I gave you a hard time about it, she’d use a certain photo of me in a”—he gestured with his free hand—“sort of loaded diaper as her Christmas card next year.”

I crossed an arm over my midsection and tipped my head to one side to study him. “Your mother plays hardball,” I said.

“Yes, she does,” he said with a smile.

“So that’s why you brought me this.” I held up my cup and then took another sip from it. “It’s a bribe.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said with a shrug.

I wrinkled my nose at him. “I really need to see that photo of you before I can promise anything.”

“How about having supper with me instead? That would get me some more brownie points.”

His cell phone buzzed then. He handed me his cup and fished in his pocket, pulling it out and studying the screen. “Hang on a second,” he said, taking a few steps away from me.

I sipped my hot chocolate and waited. The call took less than a minute. Nick walked back to me, putting his cell back in his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to go. Rain check on supper?”

“Sure,” I said. I handed him his cup. “And I’ll talk to Liz.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”

I gestured at the cubbies on the end wall. “I have to get my coat and boots. You go ahead.”

“Okay,” he said, zipping his jacket and pulling on his gloves. “I’ll see you Thursday night.” He rolled his eyes. “Assuming no one dies and I don’t get called in to work.”

I nodded. “We’ll save you a seat.”

He left and I walked over to the cubbies, stopping to stretch my calves again before I switched my running shoes for boots.

I came out of the doors to the track just as Michelle got to the top of the stairs from the main level.

“Hi,” I said.

She stopped on the top step. “Hi. Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” I said. “Have you eaten yet? We could have supper if you have time.”

Her expression turned cautious. “Are you cooking?” she asked as we started down.

“Would it be bad if I were?” I said, working to keep my expression serious.

Her mouth moved before she answered. “Cooking was never your strength,” she finally said.

“I could be a lot better cook now than I was when we were teenagers,” I said. Michelle and I had just reconnected after a very long period of estrangement. She had no way of knowing I still couldn’t cook any better than I had when we were fifteen. Back then she’d helped me bury more than one of my cooking creations in my grandmother’s backyard.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you?” she asked. Her clear green eyes stayed locked on my face, and after a few seconds I felt a tiny twinge of sympathy for any suspect that had ever been questioned by her.

I made a face. “Rose has been trying to teach me.”

“So that’s no?” she said.

“That’s no.”

She pushed back the sleeve of her jacket and looked at the heavy gold watch she was wearing on her left arm. There was something familiar about it, but I couldn’t place it. Michelle hadn’t worn the watch when we were teenagers. She hadn’t worn any watch at all. But it still looked familiar.

“Actually, I don’t have a lot of time,” she said. She gestured at the main level ice surface behind her. “Is it okay if we just go sit inside where they’re practicing and talk? The heat’ll be on.”

The TV was on the timer so Elvis would be able to watch Jeopardy! . He had to be the show’s most faithful viewer. I had no idea why. It was just one of his little quirks I’d discovered since he and Sam had conspired to put us together.

“Sure,” I said.

Michelle and I were still building a friendship that had derailed—although I hadn’t known why—when we were fifteen. It had been only last fall when I’d found out she’d heard my thoughtless comment to Nick that I’d wished her father, who had just been sentenced to jail for embezzlement, was the one who was dead, instead of my own father, who had died when I was small. She hadn’t stayed around long enough to hear me take the words back less than a minute after, and when her father died two weeks later, she hadn’t been able to forgive me. I was glad that we were working on a new friendship. I’d missed her. Even though Jess and I had become very close, Michelle—like Nick—was a connection to my childhood. I was very glad to have it back.

There were maybe a dozen people watching the boys’ high school hockey team scrimmage. Michelle and I took seats in the top row of one of the end sections. She unzipped her jacket and stuffed her gloves in her pockets. In her cream cable-knit sweater with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, she looked so much like the teenage girl she used to be.

“I know you’ve gone through it more than once,” she said, “but please, tell me again about Liz and Lily in front of the bakery. Did you see anyone? Did anyone stop on the sidewalk or come out of a store?”

I told the story again, noticing that she seemed to be particularly interested in who might have seen the confrontation. Was that a good thing? Was she looking for witnesses to corroborate our story?

I shifted sideways in my seat. “Michelle, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but you’re looking in the wrong place if you think that Liz had anything to do with Lily’s death.”

“I know,” she said.

Chapter 9

“You know?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Her phone buzzed then. She held up a finger and retrieved the phone from her pocket. After glancing at the screen, she put it back and smiled at me. “Sorry,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Her neighbor across the street is a techie. He has a security system with cameras mounted outside his house.” She held up her right thumb and finger about an inch and a half apart. “Tiny little things. They scan the yard and the street every thirty seconds. A little weird if you ask me, but perfectly legal. They caught Liz coming and going, and she wasn’t gone long enough to get to the bakery and kill Lily.”

I felt the last of the tension I hadn’t really been able to run out drain from my body. “I’m really glad to hear that,” I said. “Thanks for telling me.”

Michelle smiled. “You’re welcome.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Liz was off the hook, and I didn’t need to have that conversation about the phone call she’d made to Lily that I wasn’t even supposed to know about.

“Sarah, you probably have more influence with Liz than pretty much anyone,” Michelle said, the smile fading. “Could you remind her what a bad idea it is to keep things from the police—anytime—but especially in a case like this?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I knew what she was going to say. Had Michelle somehow managed to read my mind?

“Liz made a phone call to the bakery the night Lily confronted the two of you, the night she was killed. I’m guessing it was just to apologize again, but she didn’t tell us.” She made a face. “Not very smart of her.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I said, “but I’m not making any promises.”

Then it struck me: If Michelle knew that Liz wasn’t a suspect, then why had she wanted to hear my story about her encounter with Lily? “You think maybe the real killer was there, outside the bakery somewhere, and saw what happened?” I said.

She just looked at me with those calm green eyes. She didn’t say a word.

I waited. She still didn’t say anything. “Can’t you at least wave your scarf at me if I’m on the right track?” I asked.