“You don’t have to do that,” Mrs. McPhales said.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like doing dishes. You can tell me where they go.”

“Perimeter is clear,” came Everett’s voice over the radio.

“Imagine that,” Em muttered. “Roger,” she said back. “Why don’t you head back, Ev?”

“Roger that, heading back to the station.”

The cupboards were a mess—cereal boxes in with the glassware, an open jar of peanut butter in a colander. Em straightened up as best she could, then poured Alice some coffee. “So what does this gravy boat look like?” She took out her notebook so Mrs. McPhales wouldn’t feel like Em was merely tolerating her.

Mrs. McPhales took a sip of her coffee. “What gravy boat?”

“The one your grandmother gave you.”

“Oh, yes. It was white with pink flowers. It was very old. She brought it from England, and when I was little, she’d put it out at Christmas. I just loved seeing it on her table. It was so fancy and beautiful.” She started to cry noiselessly, and Em’s heart gave a tug. Her father’s parents had died when she was little, Nana of a massive stroke or heart attack that took her while she was sleeping.

Em lived in Michigan at the time, and she remembered crumpling when her mom told her the news, and how wonderful Kevin had been, holding her close, the comforting smell of his shirt, the ever-present tang of his sweat, back when he carried so much extra weight.

Nana had been lucky. Old age wasn’t so kind to most.

“Let me take a look around,” she said, standing up.

“You won’t find it! They took it. Those men, I wish they wouldn’t come here!”

“Why don’t I take a look around anyway? Make sure nothing else is missing.” Em rested her hand on Mrs. McPhales’s shoulder, and the old lady blinked up at her, her eyes still teary.

“Would you, dear? Oh, thank you!”

The gravy boat was in the bathroom, perched on the radiator. “Is this it?” Em asked, returning to the kitchen.

“You got it back! Oh, thank you, darling! Thank you! Oh, I just love you!” Em smiled, though she wasn’t sure if Alice was talking to the gravy boat or to her.

After Em made Mrs. McPhales a sandwich and checked all the windows and locks for the old lady’s peace of mind, she went out to her car and radioed Levi. “All clear here, Chief. But I think you should talk to her son about getting her into Rushing Creek, or maybe finding some live-in help. She’s awfully isolated up here.”

“Roger,” he said. “Come on back to the station. I need you to do something.”

“Roger that, big guy.”

“It’s Chief Cooper, thank you very much.”

Em smiled as she clicked off. Levi took himself a little too seriously, but it was oddly endearing. He was a good boss and a better cop. Not that he needed to hear it from her—the townspeople worshipped the guy.

Em called her parents from the car. Pretending to hold them hostage and then seeing Mrs. McPhales so blue...well, heck. Her parents weren’t getting any younger.

“Hi, Mom,” she said when her mother picked up.

“Emmaline! Are you sick?”

“No. Just calling to say hi.”

There was a pause. “Oh.”

“So how are you?” Em asked.

“Fine. And you?”

“Good.”

There was another pause. “Did you get those pictures I sent you from the wedding?” Mom asked.

Did she ever. “I sure did. Why would you send me pictures of Kevin and Naomi, Mom?”

“Why? Does it still bother you?”

“No, I just don’t want to see them kissing.”

“I thought some immersion therapy might help you get over him.”

“I don’t need help.” Except in talking to you, it seems. “I’m really fine.”

“Interesting that you choose that word to characterize yourself, darling.”

Mom was in psychotherapy mode. Conversation between the two of them had never been a strong point. Em tried again. “So guess what? I’m taking a crisis negotiations class, and it’s got a lot of psychology in it.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.” Emmaline waited for a question, using the pause technique. No question came. “I guess I can see why you like your work so much.” Rapport, anyone?

Silence. Okay, so rapport was harder than it looked. “How’s Dad?”

“I have no idea. Working.”

“And Angela?”

“Wonderful.”

Em sighed. Mom was like this sometimes, usually after a fight with Dad. “Okay, Mom, good talking to you.”

“When are you coming home, Emmaline?”

Em caught her own grimace in the rearview mirror. “Um, maybe a weekend this summer?”

“I mean, when are you coming home for good, Emmaline? Your stint as a police officer has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

“It’s a career, Mom. And I really like it.”

“It seems to me that you’re hiding from your real life.”

“This is my real life.”

“If Kevin is truly behind you and you’ve had closure, you can come home. I saw how miserable you were at the wedding.”

“Well, Ma, first of all, you sold my home. And secondly, of course, the wedding was awkward. I—”

“Sweetheart, you’re so smart. What about your degree? Don’t you miss journalism? Surely you want to do something more meaningful than write out parking tickets.”

Only a mother could stab so directly. Em made sure to keep her voice level. “My job is meaningful, Mom.”

“You could be so much more.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, look at your sister! A doctorate in—”

“I know all about the PhD, Mom. I’m happy doing this.”

“That’s a shame.”

Alice McPhales didn’t think so. Her at-risk kids didn’t think so (hopefully).

“Gotta go, Mom. I’m at the station.”

She hung up and unclenched her jaw.

When Levi had first offered her the job, he’d made it clear that it would be 90 percent community service and 10 percent law enforcement. The occasional B and E, speeders and DUIs were about as dramatic as it got.

Well, hell, Jack’s rescue. That had been dramatic (and terrifying, seeing him with ice in his hair, pushing on Josh Deiner’s chest, the boys clustered around him in a knot of helpless terror).

But doing Mrs. McPhales’s dishes and finding her beloved gravy boat... There was a warm golden weight in her chest because of that.

“How was class?” Levi asked as she came in.

“Great,” she said. “I love it.”

“Good. I have another job for you.”

“I’m free, Chief,” Everett volunteered. “Is it dangerous?” Automatically, his hand went to his gun.

Levi gave Everett a long-suffering look. “No, Everett. I need Emmaline. And if I see you fondling that gun one more time this week, I’m taking it away.”

“Roger that, Chief. No gun fondling. Yes, sir.”

“Come into my office, Em.”