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Brooke muttered, “Never mind. How long will you be gone? I’m supposed to meet Pepper for lunch.”

“I’m going to deposit this and be right back. Ten minutes at most.”

She nodded, then turned back to her computer monitor.

Zach pushed open the door, then stopped. He let the door fall back into place, glanced back at his sister, who was tapping the antiquated keyboard with short, sharpclickslike an under-siege telegraph operator sending out an SOS.

He sighed inwardly.

Twenty-three wassoyoung. Too young to realize just how young you were. Too young to know what you really wanted. Let alone what you really needed. But technically,legally, Brooke was an adult. He couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He didn’twantto force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He especially didn’t want to browbeat her into training for a career that bored her even before she’d accepted her first job offer.

He spoke to the irrepressible bounce of her ponytail. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Beacher compiled a dossier on the people he thinks are most likely to have a grudge against him. I left it sitting on my desk.”

Brooke continued to stare at the screen of her monitor. She said shortly, “Don’t worry. I’ll put it away for you.”

“Actually, would you want to read through it? We can compare notes.”

His reward was the bright smile she gave him as she swiveled her chair around. “I can do that!”

“Back in ten,” Zach promised, and pushed out into the bright autumn morning.

While there were obvious disadvantages to being a private eye located in a shopping center—and worse, sharing the limited possibilities of that real estate with another PI—there were advantages, too.

For example, the large, chain grocery store that anchored the smaller shops and businesses of the Del Sello Center made it very convenient to pick up a carton of half-and-half for the office fridge. Or grab a frozen dinner on the way home. There was a dry cleaner and a Starbucks inside the grocery store, as well as a mini-branch of Del Sello Savings and Loan.

Zach strode through the market’s sliding glass doors and headed straight for the short queue at the bank desk.

If there was any problem with depositing those money orders, he needed to know ASAP. But also, having that amount of (essentially) cash lying around the office made him very nervous.

It was a relief when he stepped up to the counter and handed the stack of money orders to pert, pretty Mary Anne Spenser.

Mary Anne took the bills, flicked through them, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “I guess you finally sold the business?”

“Ha-ha.”

Mary Anne giggled. She had gone to high school with Brooke, and once upon a time had quite the crush on Zach. “How did you want this? Unmarked dollar bills in a paper sack?”

“Remind me when you’re playing the comedy club again?”

Another giggle. “I’m just teasing you, Zee. Business must be looking up. That’s great.”

“Yeah. Well.” The news of their windfall would be all over the valley before the end of the day, but as gossip went, it wasn’t the worst that could be spread about them. It might even do some good. With Pop gone, even longtime clients were leery about placing their confidential business in the hands of the firm’s accountant and his kid sister.

Mr. Martinez, the bank manager, wandered up to say hello, and Mary Anne was instantly all business. Zach and Mr. Martinez chatted briefly. Mary Anne asked Zach if he wanted any cash, Zach asked for one hundred dollars in twenties and, tucking the crisp bills in his wallet, left the queue.

He was hugely relieved to have safely disposed of—er, deposited those funds. Granted, now Davies Detective Agency had toearnthat generous fee. He was a little vague on some of the details there. Not least because he was pretty sure he did not have all the details or evenhalfthe details.

Still. Eleven thousand nine hundred dollars in their business checking account went a long way toward soothing his doubts.

He’d been heading for the market exit, but since he was right there, why not grab a sandwich from the deli counter? Zach wheeled around—and walked straight into a briskly moving grocery cart.

“OOF.”

He staggered back a step or two, and the glass doors shot open and then noisily closed. He was more embarrassed than hurt. The collision seemed unreasonably noisy—the cart rattling like a train coming off the rails, the bottles and cans in the cart clinking and clanking alarmingly, and the conductor, well, driver of the cart, saying in a loud, exasperated voice, “What the hell do you call that maneuver?”