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“I’ll be there anyway,” Dash explained. “The historical society sent me an invitation as soon as I took office. Apparently, the sheriff is always on their guest list for these fundraisers.”

“How convenient,” I said.

“For once, yes,” he agreed. “I can mingle with the guests while keeping an eye on things. No one will question why I’m there.”

“Deidre already has a ticket because she’s a board member,” I said.

“I have a ticket because I’m a donor,” Hank said. “I donate to all kinds of things. I’m always getting invited places that have a dress code and want me to bring my checkbook. I never go, but I’ll make an exception this once as long as I don’t have to donate more money.”

“I can get my own ticket,” Bea announced, looking at her red manicured nails. “I still have connections. I’ll show up about fifteen minutes late so no one thinks we’re all together.”

“Hogwash, Bea,” Dottie said. “You know you like to make a grand entrance.”

Bea smiled. “So what if I do?”

“That leaves Dottie and Walt who don’t have tickets.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on attending the event,” Walt said. “I’ve got plans tomorrow evening that can’t be changed.”

“What plans?” Bea asked nosily.

“Personal plans,” Walt said pursing his lips.

That was probably the wrong thing to say. There wasn’t a personal anything that Bea hadn’t been able to find out.

“So that leaves Dottie,” I said. “You can have my second ticket.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“And I’ll pick you up,” Hank told her. “I have to pass your house to get to the lighthouse.”

I raised my brows at that, but didn’t say anything. Hank and Dottie had been spending an awful lot of time together lately.

“Could you pick me up, dear?” Deidre asked me. “You know I don’t drive as well at night as I used to.”

“You don’t drive as well in the daytime either,” Walt said, “But you never bring that up.”

“Hush, Walt,” Deidre said, waving her hand at him.

“Of course,” I said, knowing that Walt was right. Deidre was a terrible driver. “I’m happy to.”

“You all need to be careful,” Dash warned, suddenly serious. “If Elizabeth was killed because of what she discovered, whoever did it might still be on this island. And they’ve already shown they’re willing to break into the sheriff’s office to cover their tracks.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Walt said confidently. “We’ve been handling ourselves since before you were born, son.”

“We’re always armed, you know,” Bea added casually. “This is the South. Even my mailman wears an ankle holster.”

“Please do not bring weapons to a public fundraiser,” Dash said, looking alarmed.

“Can’t make any promises, Sheriff,” she said. “Everyone else will be armed too. A girl’s got to protect herself.”

“Have another sidecar, Bea,” Dottie said. “You’re scaring the sheriff.”

“What about this Jason Brooks?” I asked, redirecting the conversation. “When should we talk to him?”

“Let’s get through tomorrow night first,” Dash said. “If we find the evidence, we’ll need it before approaching someone with his connections.”

The planning continued over second helpings of jambalaya and refills of bourbon. I noticed Dash checking his watch periodically, a slight tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

“Something wrong?” I asked quietly while the others argued about whether Dottie’s arthritic knee would prevent her from climbing the lighthouse stairs.

“Just cautious,” he replied, his voice low. “I wasn’t followed here, but I can’t stay long. Someone is bound to notice my vehicle parked where it is and Larson’s been watching me like a hawk.”

“Larson? Why am I not surprised,” I said, remembering his cold stare at the station. “That man practically radiates resentment.”

“He’s having trouble with the transition,” Dash said. “He’ll either fall in line or he’ll be out of a job. Change is hard for some people.”

Larson had always struck me as someone who enjoyed wielding authority more than actually protecting and serving.

“I should go,” Dash said, rising from his chair. “The longer I’m here, the more suspicious it looks.”

“How will we communicate if something changes?” I asked, walking him to the mudroom.

“I’ll call you,” he said, pulling out his phone and frowning at it. “My battery’s dead. Been in meetings all day without a chance to charge it.”

“You can use my charger if you want to stay a bit longer,” I offered, then immediately regretted it when I saw the slight quirk of his eyebrow.

“Thanks, but I should go. Just be at that fundraiser tomorrow night. Dress up, blend in, and keep your eyes open.”

“I always dress up,” I said, slightly offended. “I don’t own sweatpants.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I’ve noticed.”

Before I could process that comment, he was gone, slipping out the mudroom door and into the gathering darkness.

I returned to find Bea watching me with a knowing smile.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“I didn’t say a word,” she replied innocently.

“You didn’t have to. Your face said plenty.”

“All I’m thinking,” she said, leaning closer, “Is that man moves like someone used to staying in the shadows. Very mysterious. Very sexy.”

“We’re investigating a potential murder, Bea. This isn’t a romance novel.”

“The best mysteries always have a little romance,” she replied, patting my cheek. “And darling, the way he looks at you is definitely a mystery worth solving.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t quite suppress the little flutter that had started in my stomach.

That was the problem with sheriffs who showed up unannounced and complimented your fashion choices—they had a way of making a girl forget she was supposed to be focused on murder rather than the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

The Silver Sleuths departed an hour later, armed with an elaborate plan for tomorrow’s lighthouse mission.

“Remember,” Walt said at the door, “Constant vigilance.”

“I’ll try to stay alert between opening the shop at dawn and running a business all day,” I promised.

After locking up behind them, I moved through the house, checking windows and doors one more time before heading upstairs. Chowder waddled up beside me, his nails clicking on the hardwood stairs.

“What do you think, Chowder? Are we completely crazy for getting involved in this?”

Chowder snorted, which I took as emphatic agreement.

As I changed into my nightgown, I couldn’t help peering out my bedroom window toward the harbor, where the distant lighthouse beam swept rhythmically through the darkness. Somewhere inside that tower, Elizabeth Calvert had hidden something important enough to die for.

Tomorrow night, we’d find out what it was.

“Into each life some rain must fall,” I sang softly as I climbed into bed. “But too much is falling in mine…”

I patted the bed beside me, and Chowder made his way up the small pet stairs I’d placed there years ago. With a grunt of effort, he nestled against my side. Within minutes, he was snoring softly, completely unburdened by thoughts of murder and conspiracy.

“Must be nice,” I whispered, stroking his wrinkled head.

As I lay in bed, I found myself staring at the diary on my nightstand.

Only a few days ago, my biggest worry had been whether Mrs. Wexler would remember the extra cinnamon in my beignet order.

Now I was searching for clues in a lighthouse with a team of surprisingly formidable senior citizens and a sheriff who seemed to carry as many secrets as answers.

“What would Patrick think of all this?” I whispered to the empty room.

For the first time in years, I realized I couldn’t quite picture his response. That thought should have troubled me, but instead, I felt something unexpected—a flicker of anticipation for tomorrow.