"Wouldn't they?" All smiles, Abra turned one of her gla.s.ses in the light. "I just love the braided stems. You can't go wrong with anything in Buried Treasures," Abra added, beaming toward Heather as she held out the gla.s.ses.

"Of course. If you have any questions, just ask," Heather said to the shoppers, then walked back to the counter.

"Now I'm a customer," Abra announced. "First, we've missed you at cla.s.s."

Jaw still tight, Heather got bubble wrap from under the counter, began to roll it around a gla.s.s. "I've been busy."

"We've missed you," Abra repeated, and laid a hand over Heather's. "I'm sorry we argued, and I said things that upset you and hurt your feelings."

"You made it seem like I was just a busybody, and I- The police were there."

"I know, and now they're not because he didn't do anything. Someone broke into Bluff House twice, that we're sure of. The first time, whoever it was grabbed me."

"I know. It's just another reason I'm concerned."

"I appreciate your concern, but Eli's not the one who tried to hurt me. He was in Boston. And he's not the one who ..." She took a quick glance around in case any of the customers were standing close enough to hear. "Who hurt the detective from Boston, because I was with Eli when that happened. Those are facts, Heather, verified by the police."

"They searched Bluff House."

"To be thorough. They may search my cottage."

"Yours?" Shock and genuine concern popped through. "Why? That's ridiculous. That's not right."

Barrier cracked, Abra thought when Heather's voice rang with insult. "Because there's one-just one-cop in Boston who won't accept the facts and the evidence, and he's hounded Eli for a year. Now he's done some hounding in my direction."

"I think that's terrible."

"So do I, but since we've got nothing to hide, let him hound. Our local police are investigating now. I have a lot more faith in them finding out what's happening and who's responsible."

"We take care of our own," Heather said with a nod of civic pride. "Just be careful."

"I will be."

Abra tried not to flinch when Heather rang up the gla.s.ses. Bye-bye, cute new yoga outfit. But she dug in her bag for her credit card, and remembered the jewelry.

"I nearly forgot. I made about a dozen pieces." She took them out, set them on the counter, all sealed in their clear bags. "You can take a look at them when you have time, let me know."

"I will. Oh, I love these!" She held up the citrine and silver, the last pieces Abra made. "Little silver moons and stars, then the citrine's like sunlight."

"Those are really nice." The woman with the champagne flutes walked over to the counter.

"Abra's one of our artists. She just brought in some new pieces."

"Aren't we lucky? Oh! Joanna, come look at this necklace. It's so you."

Abra exchanged a smug look with Heather as she handed over her credit card. The way the three women huddled around the new pieces, she might justify a cute new yoga outfit after all.

Thirty minutes later, Abra treated herself to an ice cream cone and walked home in a much more positive state of mind. She'd sold half her new pieces on the spot, and two more from what the store already had in stock. Definitely new outfit time, and she had just the one bookmarked on her favorite site.

Plus, she'd earned the gorgeous winegla.s.ses.

First chance, she'd have Eli to the cottage for a little wine and candlelight dinner and use them.

But now, she'd try meditation again. Maybe with some incense this time. Usually she preferred the fresh sea air, but that hadn't been working. Change it up, she decided.

She let herself into the house, entertained herself by unwrapping and washing her new gla.s.ses before setting them out on display on her kitchen shelves. Admiring them gave her positive outlook another boost.

In antic.i.p.ation she got a pencil, a pad, the copy of the sketch, set it all by her meditation cushion in her bedroom. Though an average artist at best in her own estimation, she thought she might be able to make any changes or additions that came into her mind right then and there. Already starting her breathing, she went to the closet for the box that held her incense-cones and sticks-and the various holders she'd collected over time.

Maybe the lotus scent, she considered, to open the mind's eye. Really, she should've tried this before.

She got the box off the high shelf, opened it.

And with a strangled gasp, dropped it as if it held a hissing snake.

Her incense rained down, the holders clattered. And the gun thudded on the floor. Instinctively she backed away from it. Her first gut reaction was to run, then logic clicked in.

Whoever had put the gun there wouldn't be waiting in the house for her to find it. They'd put it there, she thought as she let herself breathe, so the police would find it.

That meant, had to mean, whoever had held that gun last had committed murder.

She went straight to the phone.

"Vinnie, I've got a really big problem. Can you come?"

In under ten minutes, she met him at the door. "I didn't know what else to do."

"You did just right. Where is it?"

"In the bedroom. I didn't touch it." She led the way, then stood back while he crouched to examine the gun. "It's a .32."

"Is that the same kind that ..."

"Yeah." He straightened, took his phone out of his pocket, took several pictures.

"You're not in uniform," she realized. "You weren't even on duty. You were home with your family. I shouldn't-"

"Abs." He turned, took her in for a hug, patting her back like a daddy. "Relax. Corbett's going to want to know about this."

"I swear it's not my gun."

"I know it's not your gun. n.o.body's going to think otherwise. Relax," he repeated. "We'll sort this out. Have you got anything cold?"

"Cold?"

"Yeah, a c.o.ke, iced tea, whatever?"