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“Diane thinks Wes can do better than a divorced woman with a kid,” Marco said bluntly.

That seemed a little harsh, but then, I wasn’t Catholic. Not that Catholic people didn’t get divorced all the time, but for someone as heavily involved in the Church as Diane Lindley seemed to be, I guess I could see why she might disapprove of the relationship.

A group of three came into the bar right after that, and he hurried over to take care of them, so I didn’t have any time to pursue the matter further.

And then around three, Detective Ruiz showed up, and I allowed myself an inner groan. A visit from the police was about the last thing I needed right then.

But I managed to smile pleasantly at him and ask if he wanted anything to drink.

“No, I’m on duty,” he replied, unsmiling. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

My smile wanted to flee, but I managed to keep it fixed firmly in place. “We can talk in the office.”

As we headed down there, I sent an apologetic look at Marco. He just nodded, as if he was letting me know that he understood there wasn’t any way I could get out of this interview and that he would watch my table while I was gone.

Detective Ruiz and I went into the office, and I shut the door behind us. The bar had been so busy today that I hadn’t even turned on the iMac, and I rolled the office chair out from behind the desk so I wouldn’t be partly obscured while I was talking to the detective.

Somehow, I guessed he’d view that as a kind of obfuscation.

“We hadn’t talked in a while,” he said as we both seated ourselves. “So I thought I’d update you on the current status of the investigation.”

“Any new leads?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“No,” he said shortly, which was about what I’d expected but still felt like a blow. “The forensics from the bathroom didn’t turn up anything — no useful prints, no DNA, no fibers, and obviously, no weapon. The people we interviewed who were on Whiskey Row that night didn’t see anything unusual. And the break-in the other night didn’t give us anything, either. It was a clean entry and a clean exit, also with no evidence left behind. Right now, we don’t have any leads.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I only sat there and waited, wondering why he’d come over here just to tell me that, effectively, the police had nothing.

“In cases like this,” he went on, apparently unperturbed by my lack of response, “I’m required to look hard at everyone with means and motive. You’re the new owner of the bar, a woman who inherited a business and a house from a woman whose death wasn’t questioned. And that means you’re still on my list.”

“What?” I burst out, sitting up a bit straighter, my heart already starting to pound.

He gave me a grim little smile. “I’m not arresting you, Ms. Cosgrove. I’m not even seriously considering it. But this case is going to stay open until we can get some kind of a break.” A pause, and then he asked, “Is there anything you’d like to add to your previous statement?”

I thought of Meg Lindley and her grandson Wes, of all the suspicions that had been floating around in my head, of the secret she might or might not have been hiding. But maybe I’d been too focused on them. Maybe I needed to look at other possibilities…like Terry Gallego.

On the surface, treating her as a suspect seemed pretty far-fetched. But Mack had said the intruder was tall and slim, and Terry definitely fit that description, was probably five ten or even a little taller, and very slender. She could have been the hooded figure. And Roz had said that she was something of a mystery, that no one really knew much about her, and that she kept to herself, even after living in Prescott for almost five years.

And Terry was seeing Wes. This could all still be connected to Meg’s secret. Maybe Terry had tried to score points with the disapproving Lindleys by doing something terrible.

All of this was conjecture, though.

So I looked at Detective Ruiz and replied, “No, I don’t have anything to add.”

The detective didn’t seem too surprised by my answer to his question. He rose from his chair, saying, “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

He let himself out, and I stood in the office for several minutes after he left, trying to get myself together. The cramped little space had become familiar by then, even comfortable, with its old plaster walls and framed photos of various local wineries.

But it didn’t feel comfortable right then. It felt as if those plaster walls were closing in on me.

The case was going cold, and that meant the killer was going to get away with all of it. My bar was going to forever be the place where a priest had been murdered, and no one was caught.

As much as I would have liked to stay in the office and brood, however, I knew I needed to get back out there and get to work. I couldn’t make Marco cover for me any longer than was strictly necessary.

When I emerged from the office, I found Mack waiting for me in the hall, effectively blocking my way.

“Doll,” he told me when I got close enough, “I’ve been hanging around this place for a hundred years. I’ve seen plenty of things go unsolved. People walk away from worse than this all the time.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “And that’s supposed to be encouraging?”