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you mean?”
    “Just—Look, I may me out of line with this, but Jake—his reputation wasn’t perfect.”
    Grace set her drink down. “What are you saying?”
    “He had his problems, too. Rumor had it, he was gambling. That’s a big no-no in my world. A few guys have said it got him killed.”

3.
    Grace said, “It was a car accident.”
    With sarcasm, he said, “Yeah, what are the chances of that?”
    While Grace tried to keep her mouth from falling open in astonishment, Luke said,
    “The weather was clear. The road was dry. Maybe a car swerved into his lane, but a guy like Jake, with his reflexes? There’s no way he should have died.”
    “He’d been drinking.”
    “I heard he’d had one drink. For a guy his size? That’s nothing.”
    “This is ridiculous,” Grace snapped. “Jake died in an accident.”
    “Bullshit. I knew Jake well enough to know he’d never lose control of his car—not with his wife in the seat beside him. He wasn’t that kind of an idiot. The whole thing was suspicious. I don’t know why his family didn’t push the police to investigate.”
    Coldly, Grace said, “The family was very upset by his death.”
    “Well, they were stupid not to ask more questions. Jake shouldn’t have died the way he did. There’s more to the story.”
    The possibility that Emma Blackbird’s husband died for any other reason than a slippery patch of road had never occurred to Grace. It seemed impossible to her now.
    But before she could pursue the subject, her cell phone jingled again. It was a text message from her airline. She skimmed the message—another postponement of her plane.
    Luke had his phone out of his pocket, too, and he was checking some information. Without looking up from his screen, he said, “Your flight?”
    “Still postponed.”
    “The weather’s getting worse.” He held up his phone so she could see a weather report. “The city’s starting to close some of the roads. What are you going to do if your flight’s canceled?”
    She didn’t have time to answer. Another patron of the bar had been staring at Luke from a nearby table, fidgeting in his chair as the crowd shifted so he could keep his gaze on Luke. Suddenly he stood up and marched over, pushing through other people.
    “Are you Luke Lazurnovich?” he demanded.
    Luke turned to the belligerent man, his amiable façade back in place. “Yeah, that’s me. Do I owe you money?”
    The man’s face broke into a delighted grin. “My son is your biggest fan.” He pumped Luke’s hand as if priming an oil gusher. “Would you mind signing an autograph? For my son, of course. His name is Skeeter. He’s a junior in high school. Plays on the offensive line.”
    “Good for him. You got a piece of paper?”
    The man fumbled eagerly through his pockets and finally grabbed a napkin off the bar. “How about this?”
    “Got a pen?”
    The bartender brought a pen. While Luke signed his name on a cocktail napkin, Grace eyed his long, relaxed body with a sidelong glance. He really was an astonishing specimen of the male animal. Big and powerful. Strangely graceful, too. No wonder people noticed him. But his easy-going manner—that’s what drew Grace’s attention again as he signed the napkin. He was a big teddy bear with the public, she decided. He treated people kindly. Surely that was the basis of good manners, whether Dear Miss Vanderbine said so or not.
    The man waiting for the autographed gave Grace a second glance, a look of puzzlement crossing his face. His gaze darted from Grace’s elegant suit to Luke’s stained jeans and back again, as he clearly thought what’s wrong with this picture?
    “Are you with him?” he finally asked Grace in a tone that indicated her answer couldn’t possibly be yes.
    Grace smiled and shook her head.
    The man winked. “I didn’t think so. What are the chances?”
    Grace didn’t know whether to be offended or amused. “Is your son a football player?”
    “Yeah, he’s—well, he