Ava closed the hefty red door to Michaud’s gallery behind her, and said, “I think he was rather nice.”

“You would,” Patrick told her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I get it,” he said. “What’s not to like, right? Don’t all you girls go for the tall, dark, and brooding type?”

She frowned. “Not all of us. Some of us go for the funny, compassionate, and nurturing type, too.”

“He’s very talented,” Patrick said.

“You’re just saying that to shut me up. I bet you’re the sort that thinks the glass is half empty, am I right?”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. A pessimist to the very end.” She sighed, and after a moment, joined up with him on the sidewalk. She put an arm around his shoulders and gestured across the street to the park with her free hand. “You know what your problem is? You need to learn to let a little love into your life, Sully. Look where you are right now. You’re in one of the most stunning towns in the country and you’re too busy getting worked up over some artist to appreciate what you have right in front of you. Take it in. Shower in its allure and grandeur.”

He chuckled. “All right, take it easy, Freud. I’m not getting worked up. And for the record, I know this is a beautiful place. I’m here, aren’t I? I picked this place for a reason.”

“Uh-huh.” She peeled away from him and sat down on one of the black wrought-iron benches next to the sidewalk. “How do you think Perry’s making out?”

“Hopefully better than we are. I kind of feel like we hit a wall in there. Like we should have done something more.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her legs, and threw her face into her hands. “I don’t know, Sully. Maybe we should have left this to the professionals.”

“Professionals? Like who? MacKay?”

“He’s not that bad. You don’t know him like I do.”

“I know his type. We had a few detectives like him back in Garden PD.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

He spread his hands. “Isn’t it? Look, I’ll admit that we’re probably not the best group of people to be going around town trying to solve a murder. But if somebody has to do it, it might as well be us, right? I don’t have much faith in that detective. Sorry, but it’s the truth.”

Her face rose from her hands, her bangs dangling in front of her eyes. “You really think so?”

“I have to. Think of it this way. Marc Wagner can’t cry out for justice now, can he? We have to do it for him.”

“Yeah, I hear what you’re saying.”

He nodded, satisfied with himself, and looked toward the park; the bronze statue of the Colonel staring back at him.

“Should we go back in there? Ask him about Wagner and the supposed boyfriend? Maybe he knew about their relationship? It might be the only way we’ll find out anything.”

“I want to say yes because I feel that’s what a detective would do, but we’re not detectives, are we? I just… I feel like we’re missing something. Like we’re missing that piece of the puzzle that’s going to bring everything into focus for us.”

She stood and smoothed out her jacket, brushing stray specks of snow off her backside. “Life has a strange way of working itself out.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” He turned back to the hulking red door and took hold of its handle. “Tell you what, though, I’m going to head back in there and see if I can give the universe a gentle nudge in our direction.”

“If you think that’s—”

He pulled on the door and it grumbled and moaned at being re-opened. But the sound of fabric overhead rippled and billowed in the cool air, growing closer. What is that? Ava’s throaty, gut-wrenching shriek of terror pierced the eerie stillness of the street.

The man’s body hit the street, right in between them, with a thwack and a wallop. The sheer force of an oncoming freight train behind it.

“What was…” Patrick released his grip from the door handle and looked down at the body, his mouth agape.

Ava instinctively took a step back, her hands going to her face in seconds. “Oh my God, oh my God…” she cried, tears beginning to appear in her eyes. “What…”

Patrick didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. He was too busy looking upward, to the roof, for the source.

“Oh my God, Sully,” Ava continued, “it’s… it’s Michaud. He’s dead, Sully. I can’t believe it.”

He seized the handle and swung the door open. “Forget him, come on!”