A FEW DAYS LATER I was standing in front of the restaurant where we were eating the night of Joan’s murder. It was still a restaurant, but the name was different. It had been La Petite Maison and served French food; it was now called Pasta Primo and served Italian. The decor was completely different. The exact table we were sitting at was no longer there, but I could see the area of the restaurant it had been. The table for two was by the windows overlooking Main Street. It was the same table in the same restaurant where I had proposed to her a few years earlier.
I turned away from the window. Nate had set up a camera on a tripod and was looking through the viewfinder. He looked up. “All good here,” he said to Shepp.
Shepp nodded and looked at me. “You can start whenever you’re r
