"I'll bring it in tomorrow."
Wheeler leaned forward and stared at her intently. "I want you to think, not now, take some time, about whether anyone in your life has reason to be interested in something you might have. An old item that might be valuable to a collector. Old paperwork. Anything Liam might have left behind that's stored at the shop instead of at home."
The air in her chest froze at the mention of Liam's name in this conversation.
"Most of Liam's personal things are at the house," she heard herself say. "I have some pictures of him at the shop. A couple of his books behind the counter."
"What kind of books?"
"Cookbooks of his mother's that we used at the bakery. He liked the lemon-poppy seed muffins. I still make them on Tuesdays."
Wheeler nodded slowly, making notes in his little spiral pad. Reno was watching her in a way that made her grateful and uncomfortable at the same time.
"Sheriff," Reno said, "play back the first time the intruder tried to pick the lock."
Wheeler obliged.
The figure reappeared, kneeling in front of her door. He wore some sort of thin, black gloves that looked more like surgical latex that leather or rubber. His hands moved confidently as he tried to disengage the lock pins.
"Right there," Reno said. "He's holding a tension wrench in his off hand. Not his dominant one. He's trained to use both hands when opening a lock. That's not a hobbyist. That's somebody who's done this enough times to be ambidextrous about it."
Wheeler watched it through a second time. "I agree with that assessment."
"Enough to make a few calls?" Reno asked.
"I’ll reach out to the State Police regional office on Monday and ask if they've seen any cases that follow a similar escalation pattern."
“Or that involve a middling lock cracker,” Reno added.
Wheeler nodded, jotting notes down on his pad without looking up.
Grace looked between the two men. They were speaking the same language with full comprehension, but she understood only about half the words.
"Reno," she asked slowly, "How do you know what a tension wrench is?"
He hesitated for half a second. Then he said, easily, "I worked adjacent to law enforcement for a few years. I picked up things along the way."
"What kind of work did you do?"
"Worked on cases going to litigation."
Like some sort of private investigator? She could see him doing that. It would also explain why he studied everyone with clear intent to learn all their secrets. Aloud she muttered, "That's a big jump from rodeo clowning."
"Very long," he agreed dryly.
"I have time," she retorted.
"I don't today. But I will. Soon.”
He held her gaze for a second, the expression in his eyes guarded. Haunted even.
She let it go. For now.
Wheeler took them through the practical pieces of what he could do to respond. He would have a deputy parked in the alley tonight and tomorrow night and then he would reassess. Cooper was due back from Arizona within the week, and when he came back, he would want a sit-down with Grace as well. Wheeler unabashedly remarked that Cooper was the best investigator on the force and better than him.
The bakery was to stay closed Monday. They agreed that Grace would tell anyone who asked why that she was doing inventory. She would bring her laptop and binders with all her suppliers’ information over to the station Monday morning.
Mary and Celia would be told that keeping the back door closed at all times was not negotiable. Also, if anyone unfamiliar walked through the front door, the deputy out back would be informed immediately.
