“I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” Morgan’s voice was stunned.

“What is it?” Lance doubted it was the gorgeous view that Morgan was gawking at.

She pointed out the passenger window.

He followed her finger to the side yard of the inn. “I don’t see . . .” And then he did.

Stuck in the grass next to the neatly trimmed shrubs was a bright-green MCFARLAND LANDSCAPING lawn sign.

“I can’t say that I’ve been truly speechless very many times in my life, but I actually don’t have words to describe how I feel.” Morgan turned to Lance. “McFarland has been to the inn where Shannon Yates worked.”

“That does seem to be a whopping coincidence.” The parking lot was full, and Lance drove up and down the rows looking for a spot. “McFarland punched you and has a record of violent assault. I would have no difficulty believing that he killed Shannon Yates.”

“He has no connection to Noah that we’ve seen.”

Thankfully, McFarland had been denied bail. If he was tied up in the case, at least he was safely behind bars.

“We don’t know that the cases are definitely connected.” Lance parked the Town Car, and they entered the inn. The lobby was just as well maintained as the exterior. An open doorway opened into a restaurant. Inside, glass clinked as staff arranged place settings on white tablecloths. A sign announced that the dinner hour started at five o’clock. Lance glanced at his watch. Four o’clock.

“Good timing,” he said. “This place looks like it’ll be hopping in another hour or two.”

“It’s Friday. The restaurant will probably be busy tonight.” Morgan walked up to the registration desk tucked into an alcove under the curving staircase.

The slim woman behind the desk was in her fifties, but a sleek bob and funky gray-tinted glasses made her look younger, as did her wide smile. “Can I help you?”

“Are Mr. or Mrs. Shaker in?” Morgan asked.

The woman lowered her glasses from her nose. “I’m Carol Shaker.”

Morgan fished a business card from her bag. She glanced around. Two guests studied a display of activity brochures near the window. “Is there any way we could talk privately? We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Carol replaced her glasses and read the card. Her smile faltered, as if by reading it she knew what they’d come to discuss. “Yes. Just give me a moment.”

She summoned a young man in a suit. “Tony, please cover registrations for a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony took her place behind the desk.

“Follow me.” Carol led them down a hallway to a meticulously neat and organized office. Carol rounded the antique mahogany desk and sat behind it. She gestured to two equally old schoolhouse chairs that faced her. “Is this about Shannon?”

Morgan perched in the wooden chair. “Yes.”

“You’re a lawyer. Have they arrested someone in her death?” Carol asked.

“Not that I’ve heard.” Morgan introduced Lance. “We’re actually working another case, and we’ve come across something that might tie the two together.”

Carol leaned back in her chair. “I’ll do anything I can to help find the man who hurt Shannon.”

The old chair creaked and shifted as Lance sat on it. “How long had Shannon been working here?”

“A few months. She started right before the Christmas holiday.” Carol took a long breath. “I hired her as a favor. Her mother is a friend of a friend, and Shannon had been out of work for some time.”

“Was she a good employee?” he asked.

“Very.” Carol rocked forward and leaned her forearms on her desk. “Shannon was reliable. She worked her butt off. She appreciated the job, and it showed.” Carol blinked back a tear. “I reported her missing to the police. When she didn’t show up for work, I knew something was wrong.”

“Did she act normally the last time you saw her?” Morgan used a gentle voice.

“She seemed perfectly normal,” Carol said. “I still can’t believe—” A sob cut off her words. Her eyes filled with tears. She plucked a tissue from a box on her desk. “I’m sorry.”

“Take as much time as you need.” Morgan waited until the woman took several deep breaths and collected herself. “When did you last see her?”

Carol wiped her nose with the tissue. “Friday, February 23. She had the weekend off and wasn’t due back until Monday.”

Lance leaned forward. “Is it unusual to give your staff weekends off? Aren’t those your busiest days?”

Carol nodded. “Only one or two employees can have off each weekend. They rotate. It was Shannon’s turn.” Carol pressed the tissue to her face. “It was her first weekend off.”

“But she didn’t mention any specific plans?” he asked.

Had Shannon been excited for her weekend off? It would have been her first opportunity to spend a Saturday night at the club.

“No.” Carol tossed her tissue in the trash can under her desk and took a fresh one.

Morgan slipped her phone from her bag and pulled up a picture of Roger McFarland. “Do you recognize this man?”

Carol put her glasses on and glanced at the phone. “No. Who is he?”

How could she not know her own landscaper? Lance wanted to call bullshit, but he saw no duplicity in her face.

“Would you look closer?” Morgan handed her the phone.

Carol took a second, longer look and frowned. “He still doesn’t look familiar.”

“His name is Roger McFarland, and his landscaping sign is in your side yard.” Lance studied her face.

“Oh.” Carol shrugged. “I’ve never met the owner of the company. A foreman and crew come out once a week to cut the grass in season. They also handle our spring and fall cleanups and take care of snow removal. Neither Bob nor I can handle the backbreaking work anymore.”

“You don’t know if Mr. McFarland has ever been to the inn?” Lance asked.

“My husband handles the outside maintenance.” Carol handed Morgan’s phone back. “Would you like me to ask Bob?”

Morgan slid her phone back into her bag. “That would be very helpful.”

Carol sent a text. “He should be here in a minute.”

True to her word, a middle-aged man in gray slacks and a blue button-down shirt came into the office. He gave Morgan and Lance curious looks.

His wife introduced them. “They’re here about Shannon.”

Bob’s eyes softened, and he closed the office door. “We’re all very upset about her death.”

“We’re sorry to dredge it all up again,” Lance began. “But can you tell us if Roger McFarland has been to the inn since Shannon was hired?”

Bob took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on his shirt, his head cocked, as if he were thinking. “I don’t think so. I haven’t seen Roger since September, when we met to discuss the fall cleanup and the replacement of a couple of shrubs. Usually, I deal with his foreman.”

Disappointment slipped thorough Lance. “But the crew has been here to clear snow?”

“Yes.” Bob hooked his glasses behind his ears. “We had quite a few snowfalls this year. We’re very happy for the early spring.”

The winter had been cold and snowy.

“Is there any way to know for sure if Shannon was working on any of the days that McFarland’s crew came to do snow removal?” Lance asked.

“Why?” Bob’s eyes narrowed. “Is Roger mixed up in this?”

“We have no evidence of that,” Morgan said quickly. “The fact that he contracts with your inn is probably a simple coincidence.”

“I don’t have a record of the times he came to plow and shovel. I pay a monthly fee, and he removes any snow deeper than a couple of inches.” Bob propped a hand on his hip. “His company contracts with many of the local businesses. In fact, I got his name from Peter Wence, who owns that retail strip down the road. I believe you’ll see McFarland’s yard signs all over this area.”