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But he couldn’t leave at this juncture of the investigation even if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. He wanted to be part of the investigation.

At the very least, he’d like to be able to offer access to resources Twinkleton PD would not otherwise have.

“Not long, it seems,” Judith said tartly. “We’re thinking of having the funeral as soon as the police release the body. Before you leave, perhaps you could find out for us when that will be.”

“I’m not leaving before the funeral, Judith. First of all, there’s an ongoing homicide investigation. Secondly, of course I’m staying for John’s funeral.”

It seemed to take Judith a moment to absorb this news. She said in a chilly little tone, “What a shame you couldn’t have made time for John when he was still alive.”

That brutal truth hit Archie right in the heart. He had no answer, and Judith didn’t give him time to come up with one. She hung up.

What the hell did I ever do to you?

Not a conversation they were ever going to have, but he really did wonder. Whether Judith believed it or not, believed he even had a right to grieve, he was grieving, too.

Archie replaced the receiver and stood up. So long as he moved carefully, thoughtfully, his equilibrium was okay and that red hot poker stabbing through his temples stayed at a manageable level. Coffee would help. Breakfast would help. Another day or two in bed would certainly have helped, but that last was not an option.

He felt his way to the bathroom, switched on the light, and blinked. The room was wallpapered in something that looked like green velvet and the large whirlpool tub was positioned beneath a giant open window that looked out over the interior suite. The purpose being? Framed sepia prints of horses and buggies decorated the wall. Unlike McCabe House, which John had renovated with an eye to retaining all its original charm while adding such conveniences as modern appliances and working plumbing, Fraser House seemed to still have all its original parts and pieces.

Not that Archie, who’d been sleeping in tents and log cabins until recently, was going to hit Tripadvisor with a three-star. He would be happy with running hot water and a toilet that flushed—and there he was in luck.

He was able to take a long shower, letting the hot water beat down on his stiff shoulders and neck. If he got the opportunity, maybe he’d make use of that bathtub whirlpool. He wiped the steam from the oval mirror, and shaved. The cuts and bruises on his face had faded away, but he still looked hollow-eyed, hollow-cheeked. All the blue seemed to have drained from his eyes. They looked pale and colorless. Haunted. Yes. He looked haunted.

But nothing helped you deal with ghosts better than having something to do, and he had a lot to do.

He dressed in fresh Levi’s and a Virginia was Made for Lovers T-shirt, which was about the extent of his wardrobe. He had traveled from the hospital in Wyoming to John’s home in Oregon, so there had been no time to pack for an extended stay. He’d planned on picking up a few necessities while he was in Twinkleton. While he could still squeeze into the odds and ends that remained of his college wardrobe, his shoulders were broader now, arms and thighs lean but muscular. Plus, he’d sort of lost his taste for sports logos and smartass sayings.

His bloodstained clothes from the night before had been left for Twinkleton PD to collect. No one had asked for them, though they should have; he was afraid what that oversight meant for the investigation. But he also knew, from experience, how easy it was to put local law enforcement’s back up. He would have to tread cautiously.

There was a very pretty dark-haired girl behind the front desk in the lobby. He was reasonably sure he didn’t know her, but she was staring as though she knew him. Archie nodded politely, heading for the front door. She was reaching for the phone as he stepped outside.

The air was cool and sweet. He could smell the salty sea air, hear birds—most likely robins, but he recognized the occasional melodious line of a meadowlark. John’s many interests had included birdwatching, and inevitably, Archie had absorbed some of that knowledge. He had never really considered how much influence John had on him.

Fraser House was in the heart of the historic district, just a short walk from downtown. That was convenient, although the decision to stay here had been based on desperation, not planning. He tried to remember where there was a good coffee-house. The town did not seem to have changed much in seven years. To the citizens of Twinkleton, that was probably a good thing.

The truth was, it was quite the charming spot. Archie had forgotten just how pretty it was, how quaint. In a funny way, protecting places like Twinkleton, making sure the Twinkletons remained Twinkletons, was what the last sixteen months had been about.

He started walking, taking his time, taking it easy.

June weather was usually mild, with temperatures typically ranging from the low 50s to the high 60s, but the skies overhead were looking a little sullen, and this was Oregon, so he was going to have to pick up a light rain jacket with the other things. He was also going to have to rent a car, as he no longer had access to John’s. Granted, he wouldn’t be able to drive until the dizzy spells stopped.

He paused for coffee and a blueberry muffin, then walked on to the police station—which, being housed in a Victorian building, was also as cute and quaint and pretty as a postcard.

Here, he hit a wall.

The burly front desk officer, who looked disconcertingly like the caricature of an evil prison matron, was not impressed by his credentials—surprisingly hardcore, right there—and made it clear she had no intention of disturbing busy-busy Chief Langham for someone who had not even bothered to schedule an appointment.

The FBI did not usually need to call in advance, but okay, things probably worked differently on the Hallmark Channel.

Archie asked for Detective Swenson, and was informed Detective Swenson was with Chief Langham. In the Cone of Silence, apparently.

“Any point in waiting around until they’re free?” Archie inquired.

Matron—er, Officer Hill—chuckled heartily. “I’ll tell ’em you called,” she said, and pointedly returned to her computer monitor.

Well, life was all about new experiences, and his were coming fast and furious.

He left the station and walked back to the little shops and stores of Main Street where he picked up another pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, a couple of packs of underwear and socks, two plain white shirts, and a navy-blue windbreaker.