"I can't believe I didn't hear you." Stella sat up and immediately felt an intense ache in her right shoulder. She grabbed at it with her left hand. "Owwww."

"Yeah, that's exactly why I didn't go back to bed this morning. Felt like I slept on a picket fence. It gets better as you move around, though. Until then, I have just the thing to ease the pain."

Shaking the white bakery bag as he went, Nick walked toward the front door.

Mimicking a hungry dog, Stella threw back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the inch-thick mattress. After donning a pair of plush mule slippers, she stood up and reached for an oversized hooded sweatshirt.

"You won't need that," Nick informed her as he juggled the white bag between his fingers and turned the front doork.n.o.b.

Stella obediently dropped her sweatshirt and, despite her rather scanty ensemble of boxer shorts and tank top, followed her husband outdoors.

As she stepped into the summerlike air, Stella at once understood that Nick's promise to ease the pain extended beyond mere coffee and baked goods to the scenery they were to enjoy while consuming them. Beyond the front porch and the skinning table, the patchy front lawn gave way to acres of deciduous trees in a sun-kissed palette of gold, scarlet, and ginger set against the cool azure of the cloudless sky and the dark purple of the distant mountains. It was a view so vibrant, so awe-inspiring, that upon gazing at it, one's troubles seemed to melt away.

"My G.o.d, it's beautiful."

Nick stood behind Stella and slid an arm around her waist. "So are you."

As they watched the woods in contented silence, Stella reached up and rubbed the side of Nick's face with her hand. This was the reason she had been looking forward to their move for so long. This wasn't just an opportunity for Nick to live out a lifelong dream, it was a chance for both of them to shake off the stress, traffic, and hustle and bustle of city life and learn to appreciate the peace, quiet, and simpler things in life. "You know, we've been so preoccupied lately that I almost forgot that this was here, right outside our front door."

"And, once this whole murder thing blows over, we'll get to enjoy it every day for the rest of our lives. Not this view, of course, but the one from the farmhouse isn't half bad either."

"It'll do. It's not quite Mr. Yang's chrysanthemum display, mind you, but I think I can learn to love it." She kissed him and then sat down in one of the unfinished Adirondack chairs.

"Would this help to win you over?" Nick stuck his hand into the white bag and produced a croissant slathered with raspberry preserves.

"Okay, now you're just showing off." She took a bite and immediately began to moan. "Mmm, yeah, another one of these tomorrow morning and I might just forget about that outhouse."

"Doesn't make up for that bed, though," he complained as he pa.s.sed his wife a cup of coffee.

"Bed? I thought it was a torture device."

"No kidding. All night I kept kicking myself about that pump." He unwrapped the paper from a roll laden with a combination of egg, onion, and red pepper.

"Not your fault. We're used to living in the electrified age."

"When I was at Alma's, I asked Mills if he knew a place that sold AC car adapters."

"Any luck?"

"Nope, no dice. He suggested we try Rutland, but I know you have other things on the agenda than driving for three hours."

"Yeah, but if we need the adapter ..."

"No, I'll see if someone around here has one we can borrow."

"You didn't mention anything to Mills about Bunny stopping me last night, did you?"

Nick swallowed a bit of his breakfast sandwich. "He already knew. Seems the guy at the counter was Clyde Perkins."

"I kinda figured that by the way he was gossiping instead of working."

"Well, he stayed true to form. As soon as we left, he got Mills on the horn and told him that (a) we had bought the air mattress, and (b) Bunny had been chewing your ear off."

"Are you kidding me? Oh, I don't think I'll ever get used to this small-town mentality."

"Don't worry. He didn't know what Bunny talked to you about, and I sure didn't tell him. But even if I had, Mills seems to have branded her as an eccentric, so I doubt he would have believed me anyway."

Stella took a sip of coffee. "What about Alma and Weston? I hope that's still a secret."

"My lips are sealed. But you want to hear something funny? The minute Mills started talking to me about Bunny, Alma interrupted us to say she was coming by the camp tonight to bring us dinner."

"You think she was prompted by your conversation?"

"Almost positive. Why would she interrupt us to tell me that? Why not just wait until I was ready to go?" He took a large bite of the sandwich and then washed it down with a generous swig of coffee.

Stella, meanwhile, picked pensively at her croissant. "Did she happen to invite Sheriff Mills to join us?"

"Nope. She said she'd be here at six o'clock with dinner for the three of us."

"Hmmm. Not only didn't she invite the sheriff, but she made certain he understood that it was dinner for three. Do you think she might want to talk to us alone?"

"You're a woman-you'd know better than I would. I have a tough enough time figuring you out."

Grinning ear to ear, she leaned back in her chair and pulled her knees to her chest. "You do all right."

"Meh ... oh, hey, speaking of doing all right, I got hit on this morning."

"Nick," Stella sighed, "you always think you're getting hit on."

"No, I always say I get hit on, but I don't actually believe it. This time I mean it, though. And guess who was doing the hitting."

"I don't know. Alma?"

"In front of Sheriff Mills? That's cold."

"Then I don't know. Who?"

"Betsy Brunelle."

"In front of her husband, Jake? Now that's cold."

"No, she was there by herself. I was standing by the counter, talking to Mills, waiting for Alma to fill our order, when in comes Betsy. She was in a hurry, kinda fl.u.s.tered. She gives a quick wave to Mills and then immediately walks right into me."

"And, naturally, that means she wants to sleep with you."

"Will you let me finish? After she b.u.mps into me, she grabs my arm and apologizes, only she doesn't let go right away. Instead she moves her hand down my arm, all slow and soft and s.e.xy like, and lets her hand linger on mine before she finally turns away to order her coffee."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Stella was silent for a few moments. "Are you sure you're not exaggerating this?"

"No, I'm not exaggerating. I'm a grown man. I should know by now when a woman has the hots for me."

"Yeah, but you could have misinterpreted it. You said she was fl.u.s.tered. Maybe she was having a rough morning and b.u.mping into you made her realize she needed to slow down, so she did."

"Why do you find it so hard to believe that Betsy Brunelle was. .h.i.tting on me?"

"I don't. After meeting Jake yesterday, it makes perfect sense that she'd find you attractive. Not that you're unattractive, of course-on the contrary-but compared to Jake Brunelle ... well, that's like comparing me to Bunny."

"So she was coming on to me because her husband looks like Gimli from Lord of the Rings. Is that what you think?"

"No ... .well, maybe a little ... um, I'm thinking it was probably part Gimli and part vulnerability."

"Uh-huh. Some of us know better." Nick flexed his biceps. "Betsy Brunelle saw a fine male specimen and couldn't help herself. So you stick to your theories, Miss Marple."

"Did you just call me Miss Marple? She was, like, a hundred years old."

"Um, how about that Angela Lansbury character? What was her name?"

"Jessica Fletcher. Really? You think I look like Angela Lansbury?"

"No, I just can't think of any other female detectives. You're too old for Nancy Drew."

"You're just getting even with me for suggesting that Betsy might not have been hitting on you."

"No, not at all, sweetie. I'd never think of doing that. Hey, were there any women in those Charlie Chan movies?"

"No, why?"

"Because that way I could call you Number One Wife."

"Keep it up and you'll be looking for Number Two Wife."

"Hmmm ... now you may be on to something."

Stella wadded the wax paper from her croissant and hurled it at Nick's head.

"Joking, joking," he laughed as he shielded his face with his hand. "So what's on tap for today?"

"I thought we'd start by checking in on our new neighbor, then follow it up with a shower at Alma's, a second visit with Alice, a chat with Jake Brunelle, and, finally, dinner."

"You think maybe we can fit a short hike in there somewhere?"

"A hike?"

"Yeah. I know you want to move this case along, but I didn't sign up for the all-murder-all-the-time channel."

"I know, but-"

"No buts. We're doing more than solving a mystery here, we're messing with people's lives. I want to find Weston's killer just as much as you do, but that doesn't mean I'm going to celebrate when we do."

Stella frowned. "You're right. I woke up in the middle of the night hoping that Alice or Alma or Mills isn't the killer. They've been so nice to us and ... well, I've kinda grown to like them."

"Same here. h.e.l.l, given what we know about Weston, I'm pretty sure I'm going to feel bad no matter who gets arrested. Even crazy Hank Reid shouldn't be spending his final years in jail."

"And Josh Middleton is just a kid."

"I agree. That said, we're going to need a break. There's a brook that runs on this property just a few yards downhill from here. I say we walk down there later, before Alma comes for dinner, and clear our heads."

"Sure. When in Vermont ..."

"You got it," Nick smiled. "Hey, speaking of dinner with Alma, I just thought of something."

"What?"

"If Alma's the murderer, she might not be cooking us dinner. She might be coming here to poison us."

"Well, it's a good thing she announced her dinner plans in front of the sheriff. That way, if we wind up dead, he'll know who did it."

"What if he's in on it? He could have put Alma up to killing us. He could have stolen the poison from the evidence room at the station. They could be running away together tonight. Could you imagine? Our bodies could be out here for weeks before anyone looks for us."

"Dinner had better be amazing, then," Stella deadpanned before wandering back inside the camp to change out of her pajamas.

Stella and Nick stood in the middle of Maggie Lawson's front sitting room and gazed in astonishment at the wild collection of objects that littered the area. To call it a sitting or living room was something of a misnomer, for newspapers, collectibles, paintings, photos, and books had been stuffed into every corner and stacked onto every available surface, thus leaving no s.p.a.ce in which a human could sit and very little room for anything, save an insect, to live.

As Maggie shuffled around the adjacent dining room rearranging random items, Nick leaned in close to his wife and whispered, "Hey, is it just me, or does it feel like we should we be looking for the dude with the gla.s.ses and red-and-white-striped shirt?"

Stella shushed him. "I'm sorry I missed you the other day, Maggie. It was very kind of you to bring over those cupcakes."

"I know why you're here, ya know."

"Um, you do?"

"Yup. You want to know about my husband's treasure."

Nick leaned toward his wife and asked, sotto voce, "You want to board the crazy train first? Or should I do the honors?"

"I handled Reid; that makes this your party. Besides, if Betsy Brunelle is any indication, you have a way with women."

"You just had to go there, didn't you?" Nick cleared his throat and used his normal voice again. "So, what treasure are you talking about, Maggie?"

There was a pause from the other room. "The treasure my Mack found and hid under the stairs-the treasure Weston stole from me."

"Your husband found this treasure during his carting days?"

"Yup."