“This is pretty good.”

“Quiche. It’s not a hard word.”

“It’s weird though. Didn’t there used to be a thing about real men not eating it?”

“Yes, but you’re eating it, and if earlier was any indication, you are definitely a real man.” In his head, he did a fist pump, maybe the mood wasn’t completely lost. They still needed to have the talk about all the issues she’d been having. It sucked that he wasn’t any closer to any answers. Hank texted while she was in the shower to let them know that the sheriff hadn’t come up with any answers or finger prints. With no help there, they were still at square one.

“Well, it’s good.”

“It would have been better if I hadn’t burned it.”

“I think I might have helped with that.” There was that blush again, she was just so damn cute when her face was awash in red.

“True. You did distract me.”

“And I am looking forward to the next distraction, but first we need to talk about what’s been going on.”

“Do we have to?”

“I’m afraid so. You probably know who it is but don’t realize it yet. I hope by asking the right questions, it might trigger something.”

“Okay, but may I have more wine first?”

“You don’t have to ask me.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been awful bossy.”

“No, angel, not bossy, protective, there’s a difference.”

“If you say so,” she said and pushed her lower lip out in a pout. But she couldn’t keep it up and giggled. Between the wine and exhaustion, her defenses were lowered, and it would make hopefully make her more open to his questions. But watching her nibble on her lower lip was driving him crazy.

They cleaned up the dinner dishes and tossed the rest of the quiche in the trash. He poured them another glass of wine and carried them into her small living room. Thinking it would be wise to give them each some space, he sat in one of the arm chairs across from the sofa. Rori carried one of her pink and black bakery boxes, and he swore he started salivating as soon as he saw it in her hands.

Holding open the box she offered it to him. “The little squares are petit fours, like little layer cakes with raspberry jam between layers of yellow cake and covered in fondant, umm icing. There are also mini-cream puffs and eclairs, and chocolate brandy balls. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I brought some of each.”

Grabbing a petit four, he popped it into his mouth. If he kept this up, he’d gain ten pounds in no time. But damn it would be worth it. “Delicious, thank you.”

“Another?”

“Not right now. I know you’re trying to delay the discussion but the sooner we get this over with, the faster you can get some rest.”

“Are you sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I want to get out in front of this before the next thing happens. To do that I need more information.”

“Very well. What do you want to know?”

He took out his phone and opened the note app. “When did you open the bakery?”

“A little over a year ago.”

“And when did the trouble start? Was it right away?” Damnit, she was nibbling on her lip again. He stood up in the guise of reaching for his glass, but he needed to adjust his junk to get the circulation going again. He was going to have permanent zipper marks soon.

“Umm, I can’t remember exactly when I thought most of the stuff was just coincidence.”

“Like what? Try to remember, anything will help.”

“Let’s see, I had the grand opening in April, just before Easter and it went off without a hitch. I was still getting this place updated, so I was traveling back and forth to my parent’s house.”

“Okay, good. Now think, what was the first thing that wasn’t right?”

“In June, I started having trouble receiving my deliveries.”

“You couldn’t place the orders?”

“No. I’d make the orders like I had been all along, but they’d get canceled. It was frustrating. There’d be days I had to run to the grocery to pick up what I needed.”

“Did it happen a lot?”

“For a couple of weeks, then I changed suppliers and things straightened out.”

“No trouble with deliveries after that?”

“No, that stopped, but then there was all the car trouble, flat tires, dead battery, I had the garage on speed dial until I moved in here. Then I started getting phone calls all hours of the day and night. I’d just fall asleep, and the phone would ring. Originally, I had the bakery phone ring up here too. I shut the phone off after the second night of calls. But that was such a teenager thing to do, I didn’t give it much thought.”

“Is it still going on?”

“It changed from just hang-ups to harassment. The voice is disguised, I couldn’t even tell you if it’s male or female, but they’d say horrible things.”

“Like what?”

“Calling me a whore, telling me I should have been the one to die instead. Things like that.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“No, why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you, that is the better question. And you’re still getting the calls?”

“Every day, until yesterday. I just realized we didn’t have any calls on the bakery line yesterday.”

“That is weird. But then why would it start after you’ve been back for almost a year? What triggered it after you opened the bakery?”

“A reporter from a Bozeman TV Station interviewed me after they found out I’d survived the Paris terrorist attacks. They wanted to know everything about me, of course. And they highlighted the bakery. It got really crazy after that for a while.”

“When was this?”

“June, before the issues with the deliveries started.”

“Did the caller ever mention the TV interview?”

“No, I don’t think so. But it kind of went viral on Facebook. I was getting orders from all over the country until I explained I wasn’t set up to handle that type of business.”

“This is good. We know the when and the trigger. Now we need to find out the who and the reasoning behind it. What bothers me is the reference about you dying. Are you sure they said instead?”

“Yeah, it’s what they said. It tore me up inside. My parents had flown to Paris to celebrate my graduation from the Cordon Bleu. Jim proposed only moments before all hell broke loose. If it weren’t for me, they’d still be alive.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over to run down her cheeks. It was his undoing.

“No, angel, you’re wrong. Shit just happens, this world is fucked up. So much hatred, too much hatred. I saw it every day for the last ten years. You are in no way to blame; the terrorists are at fault. No one should have died or been injured.”

He hadn’t even realized he’d moved from the chair to the couch until he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped her in his arms. He had enough to go on for now. Tomorrow he’d start digging.