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When they got to the ferry terminal, they walked through the parking lot instead of taking the direct route to the ferry landing.

A security guard glanced at her and Watson but nodded.

He must have either recognized her as a local or thought she was more about walking the dog than breaking into cars.

When she found the BMW, it had a notice on the windshield.

She took a picture of the vehicle and sent it to her uncle.

Why had Robert Meade left his car here? Had someone picked him up and driven him to Summer Break?

She could bike there, but Meade had thirty years on her and had not been in the best shape.

She didn’t think he’d get up the first hill.

Besides, during Uncle Troy’s press conference there hadn’t been any mention of the police finding a bike.

Visiting a client on the island was an odd time to start an exercise routine.

Someone had to have driven him to the house.

It felt like a clue.

She needed to get home and get ready for Dalton to “stop by,” whatever that meant. She was glad to have someone to spend time with. She’d been lonely when she’d moved home. Natasha was great, but she had a bakery to run. And Meg had a lot of spare time.

When she got back to the house, Mom’s car was in the driveway. Meg put Watson in the backyard, then knocked on Aunt Melody’s kitchen door.

“Come on in,” Aunt Melody called out.

When Meg walked in, her aunt and Mom were sitting at the table, playing cards. Wine had been poured, and there was a charcuterie board on the table. “I thought Wednesdays were for wine?”

“Don’t be a smarty-pants.” Mom rolled her eyes. “We’re adult women who like a little wine and cheese in the afternoon. And before you ask, Glory needed some hours. She’s hooked on fantasy romance right now, and she wants a few series in full before she starts reading them.”

“I’m not the boss of you.” Meg got a glass and poured a little bit of the wine for herself. “I think you’re my boss.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels indulgent to leave the shop in the middle of the day.” Her mom set down her cards. “Your dad always thought I was reading at the shop, anyway. He wanted me to work harder, like he was in his business.”

“Stephen never understood the joys of living. He’s still in the rat race, trying to buy a newer house or rack up more money, which he won’t spend while he’s alive.

I’m sure you kids are going to be rich when he passes.

” Aunt Melody refilled their wineglasses and then went to set the bottle on the counter.

“I don’t want to think about anyone dying.” Meg sipped her wine. “Especially not my parents.”

“Sorry, dear. Sometimes I speak before I think.” Aunt Melody nodded to the charcuterie board. “Eat. Have you even had lunch yet?”

Meg’s stomach growled in response. She made herself a cracker sandwich with pepperoni and cheese. “No, but Dalton’s coming over later, and I think we’re going to dinner.”

“You need to eat more than once a day.” Her mom not so subtly pushed the board closer.

“I went up to drop my work off at Lilly Aster’s, and I actually got to talk to her today.” She made a second sandwich, this time using prosciutto. She felt gleeful about the time she’d spent with Lilly, and wanted to tell someone. “Jolene was at an appointment in Seattle.”

“Lilly works too hard. She’s always writing,” Aunt Melody added. “And now she has to deal with her agent’s death? I told Troy there was no way she pushed Meade into the drink. But with all the trouble she’s had working with him, I couldn’t blame her.”

“What trouble?” Meg asked as she sipped her wine. Then she made another sandwich. Maybe she’d learn something new about the slimy agent.

“She caught him lying about a publisher not wanting her next manuscript. He’d tried to get her to switch publishers, until her editor flew out to Seattle to have lunch with her.

Then the real story came out. It’s always good to get both sides of an argument.

” Aunt Melody looked away as she added, “The things women put up with in a business situation.”

“You think he was stealing from her?” Meg hoped the answer was no, because that would mean that Lilly had less motive.

“I know he was. The man bragged about it to another agent.” Aunt Melody had been in the literary agent business before she’d married Uncle Troy a few years ago.

They’d been high school sweethearts, but when she’d left the island to make her name in New York, he’d stayed behind and made a life here in downtown Bainbridge.

When Meg’s parents divorced, Aunt Melody had come home to lend moral support and had fallen back in love with her soulmate. It was a great story. And mostly true.

“Anyway, she’s better off without him. I know her new agent, and she’s a powerhouse. I’m sure Lilly’s going to be so much better off now. Maybe she won’t have to write so much.” Aunt Melody finished her glass.

Nothing was giving Meg any hope that Meade had been killed by someone else. No wonder Uncle Troy saw Lilly Aster as his primary suspect. She would, too. “Who else was a client of Robert Meade?”

“Oh, he had a few big names and lots of little ones. I never knew why he’d take on so many debut authors, but I guess he thought with the numbers, at least one or two would become successful.

But then if they didn’t, he’d drop them like a hot potato and sign up more.

They were like cogs in a wheel. If they didn’t perform, he didn’t want them on his list.” Aunt Melody closed her eyes.

“I would hate to be his webmaster. He had people going up and down monthly, or at least it seemed that way to me.”

“So if I had a book, he’d sign me, then try to sell me. And if I didn’t work out, he’d dump me?” Meg was trying to understand the process.

“Exactly. Now, a lot of agents weed out their client list frequently, but most of us . . .” Aunt Melody smiled at including herself in the group still.

“Well, we give new authors a little more time to find their groove. I never took anyone on I didn’t fully believe in at the start.

I don’t think Robert even read their books before signing them.

Especially if they wrote in a hot genre. ”

“I hear cozy fantasy is hot right now. Dwarves and elves drinking tea and solving mysteries,” her mom interjected.

Meg excused herself and took Watson up to the apartment.

She needed to shower and think about what her aunt had told her.

If another author had been mad at Meade, at least there was a different suspect to bring up to her uncle.

But from what her aunt had told her, the suspect pool may be too deep to even see the bottom.