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around here. Everything from ‘It never happened’ to ‘Julia was no better than she should be before she ever met Dennis Grundy.’ How do you know Maia’s version is true?”
    Aubrey thought a moment before he spoke. “Let’s be frank. The script we finally come up with may not have much to do with Maia’s book, and Maia’s book may not have a lot to do with the real story. But to shoot this ‘legendary’ ”—he traced quotation marks with his hands—“love story in the place where it actually occurred and to base it on a book by a niece of the heroine gives us a publicity hook that’s hard to beat.”
    He gestured at the big bills and the wallet. “So if the treasure we found is just stage dressing, so what? I’m not going to look at it too closely.”
    “Does Maia understand that?” I asked.
    “I think so. I hope so.”
    “She’s sure caught up in the Hollywood grammar,” I said.
    Aunt Nettie, Aubrey, and Joe all stared at me blankly, and I finally realized what I’d said. “Glamour! I mean, she’s caught up in the Hollywood glamour!”
    We all laughed, and Aubrey said he needed to be getting back to his B&B. Joe and I cleared away the coffee cups while Aunt Nettie waved good-bye to him, then tactfully went to her room. Not that Joe and I needed privacy. I certainly wasn’t feeling romantic, and Joe didn’t indicate he was either. I did walk out to his truck with him, and he gave me a good-night kiss before he left.
    It was right in midsmooch, of course, that the headlights hit us.
    We moved apart, and I looked toward the car that had pulled into the drive behind Joe’s truck. The headlights blinded me for a moment, but the driver cut them off almost immediately, and I saw that it was a Warner Pier police car. Chief Jones got out and walked toward us.
    “Lee, didn’t see anybody around Snow’s fruit stand when you pulled in there, did you?”
    “No. I didn’t look for anybody, Chief. But it was spooky and there were no lights at the stand, only back at the house. Why?”
    “Well, I guess we’re going to have to get a complete statement from you tomorrow.”
    Joe gripped my arm. “What’s wrong, Hogan?”
    The chief scratched his head and looked more craggy than usual. “When we finally got those pumpkins off Silas . . . well, there was a big bash on the back of his head. And a bloody shovel lying beside the body.”
    I gasped.
    “Yep,” the chief said. “Looks like somebody killed old Silas.”

Chapter 6
    I t wasn’t hard to get up the next morning, since I’d never closed an eye the night before. Besides, I knew I’d have to make a statement early in the day. Sure enough, Chief Jones was on the phone before I’d washed the breakfast dishes, asking me to come by his office.
    The Warner County Sheriff had called in the Michigan State Police, I learned, and they were using the Warner Pier Police Department as headquarters for their investigation into Silas Snow’s death. The detective in charge was Detective Lieutenant Alec VanDam. Lieutenant VanDam and I had crossed paths more than a year earlier, when another killing happened in Warner Pier. I’d met Joe because of that crime, but it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. I’d just as soon have met Joe at a church social.
    I headed down to meet Lt. VanDam. He still had a face like a peasant in a van Gogh painting, and he still had that straight, bright yellow hair that reminded me of a souvenir Dutch doll. He also still displayed that cool politeness that made me nervous. There’s no way of telling what’s going on behind a polite façade like that. It’s more chilling than yelling, snarling, or sarcasm.
    I made my statement with only a few verbal faux pas. I did offer the information that I’d seen no sign of a “showman,” when I meant a “shovel.” But VanDam didn’t keep me long; Chief Hogan Jones, who was still hanging around his own police station, was escorting me out the door by nine thirty.
    Once we were