That afternoon, Harry peered down at Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, all sitting at her feet in the tack room. “Remind me never to buy an Italian desk lamp again.”

After two years, the high-intensity bulb had burned out. The lamp boasted appealingly sleek design, but getting its bulb out was proving infuriating. She had to flip back the head of the angular lamp, figure out how to remove the frosted-glass square, then dislodge the small cylindrical bulb.

A rustle of mice behind the tack box irritated Mrs. Murphy. She left her human and jumped on top of the box, squinting behind it. “Stay put,” she warned.

Martha, the savvy mother of many, giggled. “We’ve never heard so much cussing in our lives.”

The tiger cat smiled. “You know our bargain.”

“I do, but think of my children. Such language.” Martha looked up into the predator’s green eyes.

Years ago the two cats had made a deal with the mice who lived behind the baseboard in the tack room. The insulated tack room walls provided toasty winter lodging, along with the yarn, hay bits, and old rag pieces the mice brought in to further line their nests. So long as the mice didn’t show themselves or chew tack or saddle pads, they could eat whatever fell in the horses’ stalls. This way the cats didn’t look as though they’d fallen down on the job and the mice could tidy up the horses’ mess. Also, mice heard things domestic animals did not. They occasionally provided useful information.

About once a month, Mrs. Murphy or Pewter would dispatch a field mouse or mole and dutifully drop it at Harry’s feet, after which the attractive woman praised them lavishly. She never knew the difference, bragging to her friends about how she never saw a mouse in her house or barn. Well, she never did.

Having finally pried out the oddly shaped light bulb, Harry turned it around in her hand. “How am I supposed to find something like this?”

“Go to Eck,” Tucker said, sensibly suggesting an electrical supply firm because Harry would never find such a replacement bulb at Wal-Mart.

Harry glanced down as the dog offered unintelligible advice, then looked up again.

“Car!” Tucker immediately charged out the tack room’s animal door, then charged back in. “Coop!”

“I could have told you that,” Pewter said, sprawled on the desk behind the offending lamp.

“It’s my job to announce any intruder or visitor,” Tucker said. “I am good at my work.” The corgi pouted for a moment.

“You are,” Mrs. Murphy complimented the dog, then looked behind the tack trunk and addressed Martha the mouse. “I can’t control what she says. Cover your children’s ears.”

Cooper entered the tack room and took a look around. “Is this another Haristeen project?”

Harry motioned for her to sit in one of the director’s chairs. “You can call it that. I will never buy anything based on design again.”

Cooper, studying the lamp on its side, said, “Pain in the ass. All this fabulous-looking stuff. Like Gucci high heels that torture the feet. Just a royal pain. I’m ready to break out the oil lamps.”

“I have them for emergencies. The smell isn’t all that bad but the little plume of smoke will have you scrubbing ceilings and walls.”

“If it’s dark, you won’t see it,” Cooper laughed. “Less light now anyway. Every day gets shorter until December twenty-first, the solstice.”

Harry dropped her hands into her lamp. “Always gets me a little.” Then she handed the light bulb to her neighbor. “Look at this.”

Bringing the tiny bulb close to her eyes, Cooper said, “To get another one of these, you’ll have to go into town, spend time and burn gas. Oil lamps, I’m telling you, and think what we’d save on electricity.”

“My darned electric bill for the house, the barn, and the big shed ran me over five hundred dollars last month, and you know that figure will go up with the darkness. Electric bills never get cheaper.”

“Nope,” Cooper said. “Of course, our entire society is dependent on it, and I’m as dependent as the next guy. Sometimes I wonder what kind of corner we have painted ourselves into.”

“Me, too.” Harry took the bulb back, placing it in the long desk drawer.

Pewter would knock it on the floor if Harry didn’t hide it. She had to remember where she put it, though. Sometimes when a lot was happening all at once, Harry would forget the little things.

“I brought my seed book, thinking I’d swing by on my way home,” said Coop.

“Where’s the book?”

“Out in the car,” Cooper said, standing. “I figured I’d ask first if you had the time.”

“You don’t have to ask. Go get it.”

Within a few minutes the lanky police officer returned with a large, fat seed catalogue.

“If they go through that whole thing, we will never get supper,” said Pewter, mildly alarmed.

“Do you some good.” Tucker mischievously grinned.

Pewter sat up. “I’m laying for you, Bubble Butt.”

The dog ignored her as Mrs. Murphy left the tack trunk to sit next to Tucker, just in case.

Harry flipped through the pages, the glossy photos tempting her to think she, too, could grow such specimens. “So, what are you looking for, flowers or vegetables?”

“Buddy Janss promised me some corn seed and Miranda is giving me rose cuttings. And she said I could dig up that one Italian lilac bush she has.”

“If it’s Italian, don’t do it,” Harry laughed. “This damned lamp is Italian.”

Cooper laughed with her. “I’ll bear that in mind. You know the best varieties of okra, lettuce, all kinds of tomatoes. I don’t know too much.”

Harry read copy. “Okay. My advice”—she picked up a pencil and began circling vegetables—“is to go with the hardiest. Also, the old varieties often taste better but they’re harder to grow sometimes. So, here.” Harry pointed to a green pea. “A little water, a little sun. Tough. And so is this squash.”

As Harry flipped through pages, circling types of vegetables, Cooper talked. “Both of our recent murder victims’ bodies are with the medical examiner, but we already know how they were killed: bullet through the heart. No struggle, and the killer faced Josh and Hester. So it’s likely the killer seemed unthreatening, or they knew who it was and didn’t fear him—or her.”

“Face-to-face. Damn, that’s cold-blooded.”

“It is. I’m telling you because you found them. The paper will report the gunshot wounds, but we’re holding back details, like face-to-face. No true bruises on the forearms, no teeth knocked out. You’d be surprised how many people fight for their lives, but neither Josh nor Hester fought, so I hope it was quick. Finding those victims always affects me. I wonder, were they afraid or was the adrenaline too high for them to act defensively? I guess it varies from person to person. One confusing moment of recognition when the gun was pulled, then bam.”

Harry shivered. “It’s still an awful thought.”

“Well, this is more awful: If Hester knew her murderer, so do we. I think of that a lot, how many killers do I pass each day and don’t know it?”

Harry rested her chin in her hand. “Never thought about that, but then, I’m not a deputy.”

Cooper sighed. “Well, didn’t mean to sound so negative. Back to the seeds.”

“I marked everything you need, because I know your soils,” said Harry. “You and I are both right up on the base of the mountains. We have our own little weather system.”

Cooper took the catalogue back. “Thanks.”

“This isn’t negative exactly, but I can’t erase the sight of both those people’s grisly ends, and I didn’t know how much I liked Hester until, well, until she wasn’t with us,” admitted Harry. “What could she have ever done to provoke being killed? I didn’t know that accountant, but Hester wouldn’t hurt anyone. Oh, she might make you check your watch, but she was okay.”

“Best roadside stand in the county, and she’d always try to give me something for free,” said Coop. “I’d tell her I can’t take anything when I’m on duty. I mean, really, she wasn’t bribing me, but the rules are rigid and people these days are so quick to find fault. If anyone had seen me take a cantaloupe and not pay, I bet you Rick or the newspaper would have heard about it.”

“I can see the headline now: ‘Scandalous Melon Payoff.’ ” Harry laughed.

“I’m starting to wonder if these aren’t some sort of thrill killings. Usually sex is involved in those cases, or some sort of dominance or power play. This doesn’t exactly fit the pattern, but then again, maybe we, the public, are supposed to feel a thrill, a ripple of fear.”

Harry thought a long time. “So the killer is really warped or really smart, or both.”