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“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

We ate in silence for a minute or two, and then Matilda began, “The day after the murder—”

I interrupted, “The day after the murder, everything changed. By then it was obvious, the forensics made it obvious, it wasn’t a suicide. Since I had been the only other person still working in the office at that hour, it’s understandable why I’d have to be investigated. But…”

Matilda said, “But plenty of people had access to the building, including your sister, who had also been working late.”

“Astrid, Rhoda. Our shipping manager, Vinnie. Malcolm, Brigid in accounting, Bente—all the managers. We all put in plenty of overtime and we all had twenty-four-hour access to the building.”

Matilda put down her grilled cheese. “You know, honestly, even if your case had gone to trial, it’s hard to believe you’d have been found guilty. The case was entirely circumstantial.”

My lawyer had shared the same opinion. In fact, I suspected he was a little disappointed wehadn’tgone to trial.

I said, “The thing is, when Raleigh finally heard my phone message, he took it as me in a panic because I’d shot Tom. He knew Tom and I didn’t have the best working relationship, knew we’d argued, and somehow, he was convinced I’d committed murder.”

I still couldn’t understand how he’d made that leap. I didn’t even hunt anymore. Hadn’t hunted since my teens because as much as I liked the chase and the challenge, I couldn’t stand the idea of scaring and then killing some inoffensive creature.

“You were brought in for questioning, they confiscated your phone, the clothes you’d been wearing, you were fingerprinted, tested for GSR, they took your DNA—they did everything they should have done the night before.”

“Yes.”

“Freaking unbelievable.”

“I thought so.”

“And then to compound it all, when you were finally arrested, you weren’t able to get bail because you were deemed a flight risk.”

That was still a point of grievance, but I tried to be objective. “Partly. But also, the charge was first degree homicide. I think there was a real effort to avoid the appearance of privilege or favoritism.”

Which, ordinarily, I would have approved of.

“Right.” She sipped her cocoa. “Are you planning to sue the police department?”

“My attorney brought up the possibility. But after my recent experience, I don’t have a lot of faith in our so-called justice system. Not NCPDnorour local courts.”

“Ouch,” she murmured, and made a note on her yellow legal pad.

“In fact, I’m pretty much done with Little Copenhagen. I plan on moving out of state as soon as I wind up things here.”

Matilda gasped. She looked genuinely horrified. “You’reclosingBredahl Cookies and Cakes?”

Of course I wasn’t. I hadn’t even considered moving away until a minute ago. It was just, I don’t know, a childish impulse fueled by hurt and anger. I had been wronged and I wanted someone to be punished for it. And for me, in that moment, punishment amounted to saying some stupid things that would shock and worry people. Probably not the people I most wanted to shock and worry, but I’d take what I could get.

I said quickly, “No. Absolutely not. We’re going to find the right buyer who’ll care about our people and our products as much as we do.”

I mean, it was mostly wishful thinking. I couldn’t really picture it.

Neither could Matilda. “But Bredahl is a family-owned business. You’re still using yourbedste’srecipes. You make everything from scratch. You takethree daysto make the kringles. What corporation would carry on those traditions?”

She was right, which was irritating.

“I didn’t say we’d sell to the highest bidder. I said, we’d find the right company that holds the same values we do.”

Sugar and spice without the murder and mayhem.

“You’re breaking my heart,” she said, and she did not appear to be exaggerating. “And a lot of other people’s hearts, when they read this.”