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Silence as we settled in the front seat, shrugged out of our jackets; silence as we buckled up; silence as he started the engine.

Even his police radio was silent.

I said, “You read my interview with Matilda Seger.”

“Yep.” He adjusted his rearview mirror, all his attention on the road ahead.

“I gave that interview Friday morning. Before we talked.”

“I know.”

“Can I read it?”

“Help yourself.”

I drew the newspaper out and he flicked on the cab light so that I could see. Which might have been an act of consideration, but struck me as ominous.

I began to read.

In some ways he looks younger than his thirty years. In others, he seems much older. Casper Bredahl, sole heir to the Bredahl Cakes and Cookes fortune, is tall and slender and quiet. His hair is brown and his eyes are bluer than Crystal Lake. He flinches at loud noises, keeps his head down, and doesn’t make eye contact unless you speak to him directly. His smile is quick and guarded, as though he suspects the joke is on him.

And no wonder.

It went on from there, and it was difficult to read.

Even though I agreed with almost every single thing Matilda wrote, it was difficult to read. She ripped the investigation into Tom’s murder to shreds. She savaged LCPD, ridiculed the District Attorney’s office, and all but crucified Raleigh.

“Yeah. I’d have trusted him with my life.” Casper’s smile is bitter. “I did trust him with my life.”

I almost couldn’t keep reading. I did though. I read every word. And when I finished, I thought I needed to get theCopenhagen Heraldto print a statement from me ASAP to the effect that I wasn’t going to close or even sell the bakery. That was one of many thoughts.

I folded up the paper. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Raleigh wasn’t cold but he wasn’t comforting either. It was like he was speaking from a great distance. “You told the truth. You shared how you feel about what happened to you.”

“Yes, I did. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“No one is asking you to. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But you’re angry with me.”

He glanced briefly from the road. “No. I’m not. But—”

“But?”

“I can’t stop you from suing the police department. I can’t stop you from doing anything. But I’m asking you not to close the bakery. I know you’re angry and bitter, but it isn’t right, it isn’t fair to blame the entire town for what happened to you. You have to know that’s not what your sister would have wanted. You also know, if you close the bakery, what it means to everyone who works there. What it means to Little Copenhagen. To the entire damn county.”

Fair? You know what wasn’t fair?But I let that thought go.

I said quietly, “I’m not going to close the bakery. I’m not going to sell.”

“I realize, from your perspective, it’s not enough, but I’ve already told Dad—the chief—I’m turning in my badge. I’ll submit my letter of resignation today.”

“What?”I stared at his steely profile. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. My getting it wrong—getting Tom’s homicide wrong—has destroyed your life, my life, Astrid’s life—”

I turned in my seat to regard him. “You didn’tdestroymy life. Jesus. I still plan on having a life. You did some damage, yeah. But you didn’t do it by yourself. You had plenty of help. Matilda makes that clear in the article.”