Page 9 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

I put my hands on my hips and stare Miles down for a moment. “It’s The Village Detective night, which means we will be making murder predictions with the seriousness and precision of detectives and forensic professionals, so our powers of observation must be sharp and our theories defensible. Yet, you wasted your guess on what Charlie is doing on ‘making a countdown chain,’ when you know Owen has been back in Philadelphia for a week already?”

I shake my head. “It’s like you don’t know your sister at all. That chain was made five minutes after he left, and she’s ceremoniously torn a link off daily. She’s back at our place, video chatting Owen with her phone propped across from a dessert like they’re sharing it long-distance, which is disgustingly adorable.”

“Fair enough. Oh, and speaking of people who are disgustingly adorable, my grandma and grandpa are coming to visit next week.”

“Arthur and Elizabeth?” I brighten. “I love them! The last time they visited, Arthur listened to me tell an entire story about a student who hated reading until I found him the perfect book. The whole story. I even included the three failed book attempts and a dramatic reenactment of his reaction to the fourth.”

“Grandpa probably remembers the title.”

“He asked me to write it down for him.”

“That sounds right.” Miles smiles. “Grandma says he collects people’s stories because he’s afraid something important will happen and no one will remember it. Of course, she says this while keeping a written record of every embarrassing thing any Lancaster has done since birth.”

“That’s because your family understands the importance of preserving history.”

“No, my family understands the importance of having leverage.” He winks. Then he draws in a slow breath, shakes out both arms, and rolls his neck once. “You’re right. I came in overconfident and underprepared with the Charlie guess. It won’t happen again. Tonight, I will honor the gravity of The Village Detective by suspecting everyone, trusting no alibi, and noticing every clue.”

“You can blame the overconfidence on the mustache. And beware, because it might strike you with overconfidence again before the night is over.”

Once we both have mugs of warm apple cider, we sit on Miles’s couch, and I bring up the latest episode of our current favorite murder mystery. The Village Detective is as if Murder, She Wrote and Psych had a cozy little lake-town baby, then gave it a retired true-crime podcaster, as many seasonal festivals as Stars Hollow on The Gilmore Girls, and a local sheriff who keeps insisting that their town’s murder rate is just a charming quirk. It might sound campy, but… okay, it totally is. And I love it.

The episode opens to a late evening scene showing the town of Havenridge’s annual Harbor Lights Festival, with strings of lights reflecting off the lake, a crowded boardwalk, a brass band playing near the marina, and kids running around with glow sticks. Roxie Wallace, the show’s heroine, narrates in true crime podcast-style something about how every year, the town gathers to celebrate safe passage home—which, given Havenridge’s murder rate, feels a bit like tempting fate.

Then the camera follows a local councilman as he ends a tense conversation with an unknown man and says, “I’m going to check the lighthouse before the fireworks,” and walks down a path alone.

I pause the show so we can play our traditional murder mystery game. “So, is he going to find the dead body or be the dead body?”

“Find the dead body,” Miles says with complete confidence.

I shake my head. “Definitely be the dead body. He said he was going to check the lighthouse. No one who checks a lighthouse during a festival survives the teaser.”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Unless the lighthouse is where the body is.”

I study Miles’s face for a moment. “Your mustache matches your hair color perfectly.”

“Thank you,” he says, giving the side of it a stroke. “Suave is my middle name.”

I motion at his facial accessory. “And you just happened to have this lying around?”

“It’s good to be prepared.”

I shake my head. “I might have to step my game up a notch next murder mystery night.” I push play, and we watch as the councilman walks up to the top of the lighthouse and trips over a dead body.

“I do believe that is a win for me,” Miles says.

About two seconds later, a shadowy figure knocks the councilman out, and he falls right next to the dead body.

“Okay,” I say, “even though I’m a little offended that they just made both guesses true, I will also accept the win.”

“I’m sorry, but no,” Miles says, shaking his head. “As the person who correctly predicted the initial body-discovery event, I retain primary victory. You may file for partial credit through the proper channels.”

“Okay, primary win goes to you.” I lean forward and scoop dip onto a pita chip before holding it up. “And a snack-sized win for me.” Then I pop the pita chip into my mouth.

We settle into the show as the intrepid Roxie finds clues, questions witnesses, digs into the backstories of characters, and pokes holes in alibis, while Miles and I guess which details are important and which are just red herrings. Then Miles pauses the show for one of our favorite games, Background Character Crimes, where we ignore the main suspects and assign elaborate crimes to random characters living in Havenridge.

Miles points at a woman crossing the street behind Roxie in a purple raincoat, carrying a casserole dish with the confidence of someone who definitely has something to hide. “Tax fraud.”

I nod. “Absolutely. She’s using the money to fund her illegal alpaca sanctuary.”