Tom preheated the oven for me, then sat at our kitchen table. “So, did Neil Tharp come back up to start questioning Chantal about his missing property?”
“No, that’s when all hell broke loose with the snowball. The noise it made was huge, and both Craddock and Tharp hightailed it out of there.” I stared at the crust: July had been the last time Colorado had had any fresh sour cherries—the best kind for pies—but the canned variety would be just dandy. I banged around in our pantry looking for some while Tom washed our espresso cups. When I came back out clutching a pair of cans, I found Tom scrounging in the freezer side of our walk-in.
“Tom? You’re going to cook, too?”
“Nope. I’m just getting out a couple of coffee cakes I made during one of your catering events.” He emerged holding two
