The next morning, Ava Blake greeted him outside of the B&B. As she approached, the fur hood went down and she let her hair fall, framing a concerned expression. “Jeez, you look like death warmed over. You feeling okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Patrick told her, his voice croaky. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Ava said, puffing away at another cigarette. She stole another quick look at him. “But seriously, you’re looking a little run down. Maybe you should go to a walk-in clinic or something?”

He squared his shoulders and rubbed at his backside. “I’m fine. Just some muscle aches, I think. Maybe it was the bed. I don’t know.”

She took another pull on the cigarette.

A yawn escaped his lips, releasing a puff of mist, and then he told her, “Those things will kill ya, you know.”

“Ah,” she said, waving him off. “Lots of things will kill you these days.” She took the cigarette and held it out in front of her. The lit end pointing straight up. “I’m betting one of those many other things will kill me before this will.”

He shrugged. “I used to smoke. Managed to give it up. I’m sure you can, too.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “One of these days, maybe. But not today.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Another inhale from her. More thick smoke in the bitter, bleak air. “Who said I was waiting?”

“Well—”

“Anyway, I heard back from Atticus and Mick. They’ve got the clippings ready for us.”

“That was quick.”

“They’re thorough. They’re good at what they do, Sully. I think we’ve piqued their curiosity. Should we head over there now?”

He massaged his neck. “Hmm, not yet. We should probably track down Olivia Brashear.”

“And Michaud. We should see him too, right?”

“Right.”

“Who do you want to go see first?”

“First, I want to get something to eat. I kind of missed breakfast on account of me sleeping in. Sorry about that, by the way. I saw your text when I woke up and you didn’t seem too pleased.”

She laughed. “Glad to see someone had a good time last night. Guess you got that drink after all, eh? I hope it was worth it. Me? I think I caught most of an episode of House of Cards before I passed out on the couch. I woke up at like, one in the morning to some zombie flick.” She took another long haul on the cigarette and exhaled. “You know, you’d be surprised how hard it is to sleep through blood-curdling screams and all that blood and guts. I think that I’m gonna be seeing red for a week.”

“It’s not that. I barely drank anything last night.”

She grinned. “Uh-huh. That you remember, you mean.”

“No. Really.”

The grin faded. “Huh. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

“Maybe. Anyway, where can we find Michaud?”

“Way ahead of you. I looked him up online, probably while you were too busy getting sloshed. He’s got a gallery on King Street.”

“Good. It’ll be easy for me to find something to eat then. And I wasn’t getting sloshed.”

“Fine,” she said, tossing the cigarette to the ground. She put it out with a foot. Then she bounced from one foot to the other, hugging herself. “But can we get a move on already? It’s freezing.”

“Sure thing.”

While they walked, she pointed out historic homes, buildings of note, and businesses owned by friends. She had fallen into full tourist guide mode, he quickly realized. Even going so far as to explain the significance of the naming behind Queen Street.

“Most people think it’s named after Queen Victoria,” she said. “But the street predates her reign. It’s actually named after Queen Charlotte, the wife of George III.”

“You teach history on the side too?”

She smiled. “Oh, did I forget to mention that? No, Sully, I don’t teach history. But I could probably do an adequate job now. I don’t know. I like to learn things and with the business… it just made sense to me. To be able to sprinkle in details. Speaking of, have you thought anything more on what you’re going to do here? For work, I mean?”

“No, not really.”

“No interest in the wedding photography? You could probably make big bu—”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of thing, Ava.”

“No, I guess not. You’re probably right.” She leaned closer to him. “What’s the equivalent to a bridezilla for a photographer? Whatever it is, that’d probably be you.”

“Very funny.”

“What are we going to ask Michaud? We can’t just waltz in there and start accusing him of murder.”

“Hmm. Good point. You ever done any kind of roleplaying?”

She stopped abruptly. “Excuse me?”

He put his hands out. “Ha! I don’t mean that. Jeez, what do you take me for?”

“I’ve had some questionable boyfriends in the past…”

“No, I mean, we could pose as someone else. Pretend-like.”

“Pretend?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “You mean like, we act like we’re brother and sister? That sort of thing?”

“Right. Or boyfriend and girlfriend,” he said, testing her. “Whatever we want. It doesn’t have to be… you know, if you don’t want to.”

A smile danced on her lips. “Uh-huh. Is this all some kind of ploy? Because if you think—”

He winked at her. “No ploy, Ava. Honest.”

“All right then. Just don’t be getting any ideas.”

“Wait,” he said. “I just thought of something.”

She arced a brow. “What’s that?”

“Michaud doesn’t know you, right?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve never met him. I only briefly met Wagner at some function late last year. Some local business thing. An awards ceremony, maybe. I forget which.”

“That’s good because it could have blown the whole plan before we even got started.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have been good. Tell you what, why don’t you go and get yourself something to eat and I’ll meet you outside of Michaud’s gallery in a bit. There’s a park across the street. We can meet there to hash out the plan.”

He froze in place. “Wait, what? Where are you going?”

“If we’re going to play husband and wife, I should probably look the part, right?” She pulled on her winter jacket. “I can’t just go in there wearing my every day clothes, now can I? The art world attracts a certain clientele, after all.”

Husband and wife? Well, this was a development.

“No,” he said. “I guess not.”

“See you in a jiffy,” she said and the next thing he knew, she was jogging across the street. Where she’s going, no one knows.

Ava Blake, you get stranger and stranger the more I speak with you.

A growl erupted from his stomach. “Jeez. Okay, okay.” Where to go, where to go? Caffeine. Yes, something to perk him up and bring him back to the land of the living.

He had to head all the way to the end of Queen Street until right before the Cenotaph monument, and before Queen turned into Picton Street before he noticed a coffee shop lurking in the distance. It called to him, coaxing him with its nutty richness aroma like a snake charmer would with his basket full of cobras.

He paused for a moment, standing on the sidewalk in front of the Courthouse, and began to marvel at the tall clock tower that acted like a beacon for the area. A flagpole erected at its forefront, the Cenotaph stood in the center of the street, dividing two lanes of traffic both ways, watching over the town like a sentinel.