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“That might help you work out which day it was.”

“Yes. I can check my calendar when I get home.”

I asked June for the sheriff's office number, wrote it on the back of a receipt, and handed it to the woman. She thanked me and tucked it into her handbag. I didn't press her for more. If Josiah needed a description or wanted her to identify the man, that was his job, not mine. But as I returned to my stool, I couldn't stop thinking about the phrase she'd repeated.

Twenty years ago.

What had Harvey been involved in that someone wanted to keep buried? Was it connected to his work at the bank, or something from his personal life? And why had a threat with a similar meaning surfaced just days before his death?

I was still turning the questions over when the woman rose, took her shopping bag, and approached the counter.

“June, would you mind calling the sheriff's office for me? I think I'd rather speak to someone while I'm still certain of what I remember.”

“Of course, dear.”

June reached for the telephone, and I left them to it. I didn't want to hear the woman's statement before the sheriff did, and I certainly didn't want to become the person who spread it around town. There was enough of that happening already.

Unfortunately, the town had other interests besides murder.

As I passed the front window on my way out, I heard a familiar voice from the table near the door.

“I'm telling you, I saw the sheriff drive Max Cooper home last night.”

I stopped before I could help myself.

A second voice replied, “You did not.”

“I absolutely did. I was leaving the festival when he pulled away. Max was in the passenger seat.”

“Well, that doesn't mean anything.”

“Didn't say it did. I only said I saw it.”

I continued out the door before the conversation could become any more embarrassing. My ears were hot, and I could feel my cheeks burning. They weren't just talking about me and Josiah; they were probably adding their own interpretation to why he'd driven me home. I resisted the urge to turn around and tell them that the sheriff had been doing his job, not escorting me home after a romantic evening. That would only give them more material. Instead, I kept walking and hoped the ground might open up beneath me before the story grew legs.

I stopped at the bakery on my way home, partly because I wanted something sweet with my coffee and partly because I knew I'd need to pick up a few groceries for Sylvester. The bakery's front windows were fogged slightly from the warmth inside, and the smell of cinnamon and fresh bread was enough to make me feel almost human again. Almost.

I bought a cinnamon roll and a loaf of bread, then stood aside while the woman behind me placed her order. She was talking to the baker about the festival, and I was doing my best to concentrate on the pastry case when she mentioned my name.

“...and then the sheriff drove him home. I saw the car myself.”

The baker gave me a sympathetic smile when I glanced up.

“Small town,” she said.

“Apparently smaller than I'd realized.”

“People are worried about Harvey, and when people are worried, they talk. Doesn't mean they know anything.”

“I hope you're right.”

She wrapped my cinnamon roll and handed it over. I thanked her, paid, and escaped before anyone else could ask whether Josiah and I were back together. I wasn't sure how many times I could answer that question when I didn't know the answer myself. I bit my lower lip as I stepped outside, caught between wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it and wanting to hide at home until everyone found something else to discuss.

At the supermarket, I collected a few essentials and a packet of cat treats. I was reaching for a bag of cat food when a woman from the neighborhood stopped beside me.

“Max! How are you holding up after last night?”

“I'm alright, thanks. It was a shock.”