I drew a shaky, giddy breath as the account opened and took me right to her page. It looked exactly like the public page I’d viewed before—except that I now had access to the tiny mailbox icon on the right side of the page.

I paused for a moment, the cursor hovering over the icon. I couldn’t recall invading someone’s privacy before. Even with my kids, I was always careful to give them space, to not hover over them like the other helicopter parents I saw and read about. Clicking that mailbox stood for everything I was against.

But I was convinced that Helen Stunderson had killed Olaf.

And the only way I was going to find out if she truly was involved was to gain access to private information. No matter how uncomfortable it made me feel to pry.

I took another deep breath and, closing my eyes, tapped the return button on my keyboard.

The box was filled with messages. I stared at the senders’ names and felt the first twinge of disappointment. Most of the names were the ones I’d seen on her public page, benign approaches via private message. She’d rewarded them with more words about how awful her ex-husband was and how she’d deserved better and blah blah blah. She was doing the same thing in private that she’d done publicly. Most of the conversations ended as soon as she’d responded, the men apparently losing interest when they realized she was no different behind the curtain than she was on stage.

I scrolled through all of them and one thing became immediately clear. Helen had lied about dating multiple people. Or if she had indeed dated a lot of guys, she hadn’t found them through Around The Corner. She’d boasted about all the men that were after her, but if that was true, she wasn’t finding them through the site.

Except for one.

It was the next to last message in her mailbox. And for once, she hadn’t spilled her guts about her marriage and divorce. She’d asked him some questions. She’d answered his. She sounded less insane in the conversations with him. There were multiple messages and they’d had long discussions—about their interests, their pasts, even Helen’s divorce. They’d agreed to meet and had apparently done so, based on what I read. She’d had a good time and so had he. So they’d gone out again.

I stared at the photo and user name.

The photo was of his mid-section only. A ripped, tanned abdomen encircled by a tool belt. I rolled my eyes and stifled a giggle. It instantly brought back memories of all the cheesy photos I’d seen scroll through my recommendations when I’d been on the site.

I bit back another laugh when I saw his name.

Sexy. His name was Sexy. Nothing more. He signed his emails with a simple ‘S.’

I searched for him in the profile section, hoping there might be more info, but I couldn’t find him. That wasn’t out of the norm. You could hide your profile if you wanted to once you started dating someone or if you just wanted to lay low. It wasn’t a total shock that I couldn’t find him but it was disappointing.

I read through their email exchanges again. He seemed nice, non-threatening, and he seemed to genuinely have had a good time on their first date. Helen’s responses indicated that she was excited that he was interested in her. He was sympathetic about her divorce but never said anything negative about Olaf…mostly because, for some reason, Helen had decided not to complain about him. Maybe she’d learned her lesson from her previous exchanges with men on the site. Or maybe she’d stopped caring because she’d finally found someone she liked. I didn’t know.

But one thing was becoming crystal clear. There was nothing in her private emails on the site that indicated she’d had a hand in her ex-husband’s death.

I sighed and closed the laptop and glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. The girls had a pile of miniature bracelets and necklaces on the dining room table, a rainbow of colors. Will was still upstairs, probably immersed in a Minecraft battle. The kids would need lunch soon and both girls needed showers. I needed to wash the sheets we needed to head to the pet store at some point to get a more permanent home for the hamster.

The last thing I needed to be spending time on was trying to play amateur detective. Looking through those messages had done more than raise my guilt level; it had left me feeling decidedly out of my league. And foolish. I’d bribed my son. Participated in hacking into a commercial web site. Reading through private emails. All in some desperate attempt to figure out why a guy I’d known for approximately three hours had ended up in my coal cute.

There was a lot wrong with that. I wondered if maybe it was time to start listening to Jake and to let it go and leave the investigation to the professionals.

I stood up and stretched and glanced down at the laptop. Let it go, I reminded myself. Get on with the day. I nodded in agreement at my inner monologue.

But I couldn’t help looking at the closed laptop one more time.

Because I really, really wanted to know who Sexy was.

THIRTY SEVEN

I was finishing up with the lunch dishes when a knock at the backdoor sent the kids scattering to their hiding places. I toweled off my hands and waved at Rex the inspector through the window.

“Hey Daisy,” he said when I opened the door. “Jake called me this morning about the pipe thing. I told him I could stop by to get some measurements so you can get the HVAC guy out here to install the ducting. Is now an okay time?”

“Sure,” I said, stepping out of the way so he could come in. “No problem.”

He clutched his travel mug of coffee in his hand and stomped his feet on the mat, shaking the snow loose from his boots. “Just figured since I was driving by and Jake and I had just talked, I’d get it done now. Get those pipes warmed up for good.”

It seemed like forever since Jake and I had gone down there to unfreeze the pipe and had found the  unpleasant surprise in the coal chute.

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

He followed me down into the basement and I hit the lights for the low-ceilinged room.

“Things starting to calm down?” Rex asked as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “With, you know, the thing and all?”

“Oh, I guess,” I told him. I wrapped my arms around myself. It was as cool as a cave in the below-ground basement. “Still lots of questions and what not.”

He nodded. “Ran into Olga at the grocery store the other day,” he said. He walked over to the heating unit and set his mug down on an old card table we’d set up. “Said you two have been talking.”

“We got off on the wrong foot.” I thought back to our wrestling match in the snow. “But I think we’re friends now.”

“Nothing but nice things to say about you,” he said as he pulled a tape measure from his pocket. “For what that’s worth.” He laid the tape to the side of the unit. “Guess Helen’s been giving her some trouble about all of it.”

I nodded. “Helen seems to have a way of stirring up a little trouble.”

Rex chuckled and punched some measurements into his phone. “I suppose. Think everyone’s on edge, though. Kind of strange having a dead body in Moose River.”

That was an understatement.

“Can’t recall the last time that’s happened.” He held the tape up again to the opening near the crawl space. He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Police give you any clue as to what they think happened?”

I shook my head. “The only thing that detective has said to me is to mind my own business.”

He chuckled again. “Ol’ Priscilla. She’s a tough cookie. Means well, but a little short on the courtesy gene.”

That was one way of putting it.

He punched more measurements into his phone. “Yeah, I’d expect she’d want to clear everyone away from it. But that makes sense. Just trying to do her job without anyone or anything getting in the way.”