Oh, man. Daniel had hoped to keep the key business quiet. “You haven’t told anybody about it, have you?”

Beau looked down at his feet. “Maybe Matilda.”

“Matilda?”

“You know. The girl at Tastee Delight.”

The whole damn town probably knows by now.

It was so stupid, and unfortunately so damn typical of Josephine Bennett. When her husband, the former chief of police, died two years ago, Jo took over. That would have been fine, except she went on a spiritualism kick, and she now thought rocks and cards and candles could answer everything. What was next, séances at the police station?

Jo had read about Tyler ’s involvement in a kidnapping case in California. But Daniel had heard Cleo Tyler hadn’t had anything to do with it, that she’d been brought in just as the police were ready to rescue the victim. An opportunist, Tyler hadn’t wasted a second in taking credit for solving the crime and saving a kidnapped child’s life. Daniel had tried to tell Jo that Cleo Tyler was nothing but a fraud and a con artist, but Jo wouldn’t listen.

“I’ve consulted my cards,” she’d told him. “And they say she’s the one.”

“The one what?” he’d asked. “The crackpot?”

“When did you get so serious?” Jo had replied. “You need to lighten up. What’s happened to you, Danny boy? When you were little, you were always laughing. I never see you laugh anymore.”

“Nothing’s funny, Jo.”

And that was the truth. Nothing was funny.

“The patrol car’s being worked on,” Daniel told Beau. He’d deliberately taken it to the garage the previous day so he’d have an excuse to leave Beau at home. “There won’t be enough room for all of us in the truck. I’m sorry.”

“We can fit. Three people? We can fit. Three people have fit before. Is she fat?” Beau thought about that for a while. “Even if she is fat, we can fit. I’m skinny, and you’re… I don’t know, you’re regular.”