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“The Nancy Drew crew sticks together. Just don’t call me Ned.” He sat next to her, and they watched the city lights grow closer and closer.

After disembarking, he took her out through a guarded gate and directly to the ticket building.

When they stepped inside, two women stood at the windows, but neither one was helping customers.

He walked her over to the blond woman on the right.

“Meg, this is Cissy. I told her what you wanted to know.”

Cissy stood and shook Meg’s hand as Dalton left the room. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m not sure what Dalton thinks I can tell you. We see a lot of people come through here.”

“Well, I’m wondering if you’ve seen this man.” Meg had taken a snip of a picture of Robert Meade on the internet. She held out her cell phone to show Cissy the snip.

“Of course. That’s the guy who was killed on L.

C. Aster’s dock. He was a nasty man. He was always complaining that people were touching his BMW.

I guess I shouldn’t talk ill of the dead.

” Cissy rolled her eyes. “He was so easy to hate. He threw his card at me one day to get his ticket. I dropped it, and he griped that I was taking too long.”

“He did the same thing to me,” the other woman added. “We get a few regulars to Bainbridge, and most of them are lovely. Like the ex-husband of the writer? He and his new girl are both nice. She even comes over to the island by herself. She loves it there.”

“Tabitha and Josh?” When Meg had talked to Tabitha, she’d made it seem like Josh dragged her there so he could talk to his ex-wife. “When was the last time you saw her by herself?”

“Last night. She came on about this time, and I saw her leave after the last ferry docked. I walked over to the same parking garage. She was talking on the phone to someone.” The woman blushed.

“I thought she was talking to me, but she had in those earphones you can’t see.

I almost answered her before I realized she wasn’t questioning me about my roommate. ”

Meg tried to steer the conversation back to Robert, but other than both women agreeing he was horrible, she didn’t get much.

Cissy checked her watch. “You better get going before you miss the ferry.”

“Oh, wait. I remembered something. The last day . . . I guess it must have been the day he died.” The other woman met Meg’s gaze. “He was actually in a good mood. He was talking on the phone when he came to get a ticket. He waited for the change, then smiled. And then he said something weird.”

“What?” Meg and Watson paused at the door, eager to get back to the ferry.

“He said with this information, she’d have to stay with him. The golden goose didn’t need to be slaughtered, only penned up.” She waved her out. “You better run.”

Her pathway took her along a row of windows through which she could see the Seattle-bound passengers leaving the ferry.

As she watched, Romain hurried through the people, looking at his watch.

What had he been doing on Bainbridge Island?

Had he been looking for her? Again? Maybe she needed to read his emails.

After she boarded the ferry, she settled onto a bench, with Watson lying on the floor.

Meg thought about Meade’s words. He’d had his hands in a lot of pockets.

Could he have been talking about Natasha and his loan?

Or Lilly and her books? The one person he hadn’t been talking about was Emmett Harding.

He’d said she’d have to stay with him. If Meg bet on anything, it would be that Meade had been talking about Lilly.

Especially since she’d fired him earlier that week.

It was more evidence that she could give to her uncle. If it all didn’t point to the two people she didn’t want on his suspect list.

This sleuthing thing was harder than it looked on television.

* * *

Watson woke Meg the next morning by barking. Someone was at the door. She pulled on her robe and opened the door to find Uncle Troy standing there, a sheet of paper in his hand.

“Do you want to tell me what this is all about?” He shook the paper at her.

Meg turned and went to start coffee. She couldn’t have this conversation without it.

“I talked to Cissy last night about Robert Meade. I would have brought the information to you sooner, but I wasn’t sure what it meant.

Sometimes I need a few hours or even days to find out if it even applies. Do you want coffee, too?”

He frowned and shut the door behind him. “Don’t tell me you’re investigating Robert Meade’s murder. I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

Meg pulled two cups out of the cabinet and then sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m confused. If you didn’t know I was investigating, you probably didn’t know about me talking to Cissy. So why are you here again? Is Aunt Melody out of coffee?”

“No, your aunt isn’t out of coffee. She gave this to me after feeding me a full breakfast, including omelets and juice.

I should have known to be suspicious when she made monkey bread this morning.

” He rubbed his face. He took a seat at the table, then he pushed the white paper toward her.

“Your mother found this in the trash at the bookstore. Please tell me you were venting and Romain isn’t in danger. ”

“Why would Romain—” Meg started, then looked down at the page.

It was a copy of her assignment for Lilly Aster.

She pushed it back to her uncle and stood to pour the coffee.

“That was a writing assignment from Lilly Aster. She wanted to see how my mind worked when I was asked to plan the perfect murder. I realized after I’d printed this copy that I hadn’t changed Romain’s name.

I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. This is fiction. Not a murder plot.”

Uncle Troy waited for her to bring over the pot and fill both cups. As he waited, he scanned the document again. “It’s a good plan for a murder.”

“Thanks, I think. Anyway, it was an assignment. What’s Mom doing going through the trash, anyway?” She resumed her seat at the table.

“According to your aunt, the paper fell out of the trash can and was under the counter. Your mother found it when she was sweeping. Then she got worried.” He sipped his coffee. “So how is your job with Ms. Aster? Are you learning a lot?”

“A lot about mystery and murder, yes. And a little about the book business. She’s on a whole higher level than any author I’ve met before.

Yet she’s so down to earth. She wants to write a good story.

” Meg sipped her coffee. Watson was sleeping on his kitchen bed.

She’d have to take him out soon. He was a good dog, but even well-trained dogs had their limits.

“You don’t think she killed Robert Meade.” The question didn’t sound like a question, at least not to Meg.

She met her uncle’s gaze and shook her head. “I don’t believe that is possible in this world or in a fictional one. She’s too nice. I’m willing to bet on it.”

“You kind of are since you go over there once a week.” He leaned back in his chair. “I suppose you need the job to afford to pay rent, right?”

Meg nodded. “But it’s not only that. I’m learning. I’m engaged. I’m loving work for the first time in a long time. I can be creative and yet useful.”

“I’m happy for you. I don’t know who else to chat with to get your favorite author off my suspect list. She said she was writing and didn’t even look up at that amazing view all day.”

Meg thought about her promise to Dalton. Maybe she could steer her uncle toward another suspect without mentioning Emmett Harding. Besides, Dalton had said Emmett had already talked to Uncle Troy.

“Have you looked at Meade’s financials? If he loaned money to Natasha, maybe he made loans to other people. Ones who didn’t want to or couldn’t repay him.”