“Yum,” I say, even though the thought of bloody beef sours my tender stomach.

He pulls away and tucks back into his now cold breakfast. “Why don’t you pick up two steaks, then. And potatoes. You know I love your mashed potatoes.”

“Now?”

“Sure.” He shovels the rest of his food into his mouth, balls up the paper napkin, tosses it on his plate, and stands. “I’ll clean up breakfast even.”

“All right,” I say. I feel rushed, but I suppose I have nothing better to do. I grab my purse. I’m out the door before I realize we don’t have steak sauce, and I can’t remember which brand he prefers. I dash back inside to ask him, but he’s on the phone, his back to me, his shoulders so tight they’re braced like wings against his neck.

It must be important. I tiptoe back outside.

CHAPTER 27

“It’s so nice of you to meet with me, Mrs. Swanson,” I say as Paulie Aandeg’s kindergarten teacher sits across from me, smoothing her skirt for the thirtieth time. I’m thrilled to finally get a chance to speak with her. Deck told me the good news when I came back with the steak sauce. I was surprised to see him at home still, but I wasn’t going to complain. He also let me know that Ronald would let us use the insurance office break room to talk, though judging by how often Mrs. Swanson glances at the door, she wouldn’t be comfortable with this interview anywhere. For my part, I’m surprised Ronald’s allowed me to talk to her at all. It’s the first help I’ve gotten on the story since Dennis gave it to me.

Beautiful Becky, nervous as a nest of bees. She keeps her smile slapped on, though, her face only mildly lined, her blonde hair pulled back in a flattering upsweep.

“You must have been a young teacher,” I say, trying to put her at ease.

The comment has the opposite result. Her eyes fill with tears. “It was my first and last day of teaching. I tried to go back, after . . . after . . .”

“After Paulie disappeared?”

She nods. I wish I carried a handkerchief, because her nose is starting to run. “I couldn’t stay. I felt too terrible.”

I grab her hand. “What happened, Mrs. Swanson?”

“That’s just it,” she wails. “I don’t know! Paulie was there all morning. I don’t remember him saying a word, probably wouldn’t even recall him in my classroom if not for that sailor suit. Last I saw him, he was playing with some boys right before lunch, Quill and Aramis, I believe.”

I release her hand. “Quill Brody.”

“That’s right. And Aramis Bauer.”

I choose my next words carefully. “Aramis Bauer is Amory and Rue’s son, of course.”

She swipes at her tears, her face brightening like a sun appearing from behind clouds. “Yes. He was a sweet boy. A bit of a rascal at times, but it was elementary school. It was harmless. I believe he’s overseas now, Aramis is.”

I think of what Catherine mentioned last night. When she spoke of her son, she’d said nothing about him being the last person to see Paulie Aandeg. “And Quill?”

Her lips tighten. “I don’t know. That poor boy.”

“Poor?”

She pats her ears.

I squint. “He was hard of hearing?”

She shakes her head, patting her ears again but this time also tapping her chin. I have no idea what she’s trying to communicate. “Even more than that? He’s deaf?”

Before she can answer, the door flies open, and Dennis rushes in.

“You’re not going to believe this, but Paulie Aandeg is across the street! He wants to talk to you right now.”

His words echo in my chest, beneath the rumble of confusion Mrs. Swanson has engendered. “Me?”

Mrs. Swanson jumps to her feet, her closing statement coming out as one long, loud word. “It was the saddest day of my life, truly, but Lilydale has been so good to me since. They helped me to keep my home while I looked for work, and then, when I couldn’t find any, Mr. Schmidt hired me here. I’ve never been happier.”

She beams and glances out through the break room door. Ronald, Deck, and Clan are all watching us, their eyes gleaming. I’m struggling to keep up. “Thank you, Mrs. Swanson. Dennis, where is he right now?”

“Tuck’s Cafe.”

My smile starts slowly, but it quickly cuts across my whole face. Finally. The access I need for my breakthrough story. I’ve been paranoid, thinking the town is conspiring to keep me from digging up the truth about Paulie Aandeg. Actually, if I’m honest with myself, I was starting to wonder if Paulie Aandeg had returned to town at all. But of course he has, and I get to meet him! I am overtaken by so much bubbling champagne joy that I leap off my chair and hug Dennis. Apparently, that’s what we do in Lilydale.

“You won’t be sorry!”

He chuckles. “I already am. Here, I Xeroxed the two articles for you. Look for a man with dark hair in his late twenties.”

I thank him and then Mrs. Swanson, give Deck a chaste kiss, and rush to the restaurant.

I’m halfway there before the question crackles up.

How did Dennis know I’d be in the break room of Schmidt Insurance?

CHAPTER 28

Panty popper. That’s what Ursula would have called Paulie Aandeg. I know because she referred to plenty of men that way when she, Libby, and I were living together in Minneapolis.

Jesus, he’s a panty popper.

She didn’t use the term to describe just any good-looking man.

Only good-looking men who looked like Paulie Aandeg.

Kris Jefferson, I correct myself.

That’s how he introduced himself.

Even if I hadn’t gotten a rough description of him beforehand, I would have known immediately walking into Tuck’s Cafe that he had not been raised in Lilydale. The liquid way he holds his body, his shockingly tight tan corduroys, the wavy dark hair feathered away from his face, the even darker beard and mustache with a shock of white at the chin, chocolate eyes, straight white teeth.

He’s gorgeous.

A panty popper.

The intense rush of hunger I feel when I ease into the booth across from him is out of proportion, embarrassing. Animal, almost. I push Ursula’s term out of my brain, honest-to-god worried that I will accidentally say it out loud.

So, how long have you been popping panties?

“Excuse me?” he says, his first words since we introduced ourselves.

My face rages with shame before I realize he’s calling over the waitress.

“More coffee.” He points at his cup and then at me. “You want anything?”

“Tea, please,” I tell the waitress. To him: “Thanks for meeting with me. I was starting to think you were a myth. Should we dive right in?”

It’s abrupt, but his attractiveness—and my response to it (I’m practically married!)—has me on edge. I am happy with Deck. He fills all my needs. This must be related to my pregnancy hormones, and I don’t like it one bit. I yank out my notepad and a tape recorder to put some space between us. I depress the play and record buttons simultaneously and lift my eyebrows. “What can you tell me about yourself?”

Even his smirk is sexy. “Why don’t you tell me about Paulie Aandeg first.”