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you all agree on. So how could someone else have killed him?”
    â€œHow could Greg? Even if he thinks he did somehow.”
    â€œJesse will tell us when we all meet up at the shop,” Eleanor reminded me.
    I took a sip from my coffee and sat down at the table opposite Eleanor. The hot liquid going down my throat did what it always magically did. It made it easier to think. “What’s the history between Greg’s father and Joe Proctor?”
    â€œGreg’s father, Martin, used to have a little fix-it shop right where Everything Pizza is now. He had the place for years. When Joe and Lori moved to town, Joe made friends with Martin right away. In fact, Martin might have been the only friend Joe had. He introduced Joe to everyone in town. But just a few months after they met, the county building manager showed up, pointing out all these code violations at the shop.”
    â€œWhat kind of code violations?”
    â€œImproper ventilation, too many electric outlets, too many mousetraps for all I know . . . just anything he could think of. The shop had been there for years, and Martin hadn’t updated. So when the county inspected it, Martin was told he had to do an expensive remodel or close up the business.”
    â€œAnd he closed.”
    â€œHe did. And sure enough, days later Joe took out a lease on the space and opened a restaurant. Martin always suspected it was Joe that went to the county, but he never had any proof. Joe denied it, but their friendship ended in a shouting match on Main Street.”
    â€œDid it ever get physical?”
    â€œNo. And Joe would have been a fool to let it. Martin is over six feet, must be more than two hundred pounds, and most of it used to be muscle. But Martin is a nice, mild man like his son. He walked away that day and let it go,” Eleanor said. “He got a job working for a parts factory over in Beacon. I don’t think he minded losing the shop so much as how he lost it.”
    â€œYou think Greg would hold a grudge for ten years?”
    â€œI don’t,” she said. “But I can’t promise the state police will see it that way.”
    â€œWe don’t have to tell them, do we?”
    She looked at me. “We don’t, but Greg does, don’t you think? It would only make him look guilty if he pretended there were no hard feelings between Joe and himself.”
    She was right. I hated to admit it, but she was right. If the state police wanted Greg for Joe’s death, they already had means and opportunity. And now it was only a matter of time before we did the right thing—and gave them motive. Even a strong cup of coffee didn’t make that thought easier to live with.

Chapter 8
    I stopped for gas on my way to pick up Carrie. She had called Greg’s parents just after breakfast to let them know we wanted to stop by. Not surprisingly, they’d already heard about Joe’s death. My guess was that before the New Year had begun, half of Archers Rest knew where and when he had died and were preparing their alibis in case they were questioned as yet another person who hated Joe.
    Except for one guy. When I stopped at the station, I went to the full-service pump, and just as I’d hoped, Larry Connelly was there to fill up my tank.
    â€œIt’s just a tragedy,” Larry said. “He was still a young guy, relatively. He could have done some awesome things with his life.”
    â€œHe could have, but I’m not sure Joe was interested in making changes.”
    He leaned against my car, and I did the same. It was a cold morning, but the sun was bright and we hadn’t gotten much in the way of snow, so it felt more like October than the dead of winter.
    â€œWhat did you tell the state police?” I asked.
    â€œWhat I saw, which was pretty much nothing. I got to the station at six-thirty, like I promised. Just as I came in, I saw Greg running out from the back. He looked pretty