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“True. True.” The man sighed again and rose. “Thank you for letting me look around.”

“Not at all.” Andy accompanied the would-be customer to the door, holding it open against the wind.

“Thank you again. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” The man stepped out into the chilly gray afternoon.

“Thanks for stopping by.” Andy started to close the door.

The man turned back, and his expression was hard to read. “Perhaps I’ll stop by again before I leave town.”

“We probably won’t be open until Monday morning. But if you’re still in Safehaven then, by all means, drop by.” Andy closed the door firmly, locked it, and nodded politely through the glass to the man, who still stood on the pavement, staring in.

At last, the man turned away, nimbly crossing the road and climbing into a silver BMW parked at the curb.

Andy watched until the BMW pulled away and vanished down the street.

“That was weird,” he muttered. He double-checked the lock on the door and made his way upstairs.

He was setting the last egg into rack on the door of the fridge when someone rapped briskly on the side door.

Andy’s heart jumped in an alarming surge of excitement and adrenaline he didn’t begin to want to explore—and which turned out to be unnecessary because the person standing on his landing, casserole dish in hand, was Mrs. Dubonnet.

She said briskly, “It’s my dilly zucchini casserole. Your uncle loves it. I figured you might prefer a home-cooked meal tonight.”

“That’s so kind.” Andy took the heavy dish. “I was going to stop by later. I’m afraid there really isn’t any news yet.”

“Why, ohwhycouldn’t the old fool just pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep?” Mrs. Dubonnet was smiling sadly. She knew why, just as Andy knew why, but he shook his head.

“The police seem to think kids broke in and panicked when he came downstairs.”

“That’s what everyone’s saying,” she agreed. “The more I think about it, the more I wonder.”

Andy surprised himself by saying, “I wonder too, but I can’t come up with a better theory.”

“It seems to me that kids would panic andrun, not go on the attack.”

“It’s hard to predict what kids—what anyone—might do when they’re frightened.” But he agreed with her. According to Marcus, the typical reaction of thieves and burglars when confronted was to turn and run. Granted, these kids would not—presumably—be professionals. Panic made people unpredictable.

“That’s true,” she said regretfully. “The world is changing.”

As someone who spent his life in a museum, he could have told her the world wasalwayschanging, but he said, “Yes. Even Safehaven.”

She seemed to be waiting for something more. Hopefully not to be invited to share the casserole. He said at random, “Anyway. How’s Mr. Dubonnet these days?”

In all honesty, he tended to forget therewasa Mr. Dubonnet. He was some kind of traveling salesman—apparently that was still a thing—and usually on the road. A short, stout, jolly man, a few years younger than his wife, Mr. Dubonnet was very fond of poker, puppetry, and puns and aphorisms likeHonesty is the best policyandAn honest man’s word is as good as his bond.

She looked startled, sad, and then recovered. “That’s right. You wouldn’t know. Edgar passed this last October.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea.”

“Course not. How could you? He’d just got back from a trip to New York. He died in his sleep.”

“That’s awful. What a shock for you.”

She shrugged. “It was. But if you’ve got to go, that’s the way. He looked so peaceful lying there.”

Andy’s stomach flopped as he thought of Uncle C. lying so still in that hospital bed. He’d looked peaceful too, despite the bruises and battering. “That’s something, I guess. I’m truly sorry.”

“I know you are. You’re a sweet boy. Well, I shouldn’t leave the shop closed for too long.”