The rest of Jacy followed her belly into the house. The white, fleecy coat belted over the baby bump gave her the appearance of a snowman come to life.

“Don’t try to hug me,” she warned. “Peanut is in a kicky mood today. Nailed me in the ribs so hard I could hear it. Besides, you won’t be able to reach, and somehow, I find it depressing when it takes two or more people linking hands to form a circle around me.”

“Oh, come on. You look radiant.” I hugged her anyway, and my arms fit around her well enough.

Sweeping back a fall of honey blonde hair, Jacy raised an eyebrow, but her eyes twinkled. “Everyone keeps saying I’m glowing. I’m not. That’s sweat. It takes a lot of effort to haul myself anywhere given I’m approximately the size of a Clydesdale.”

“Well, I can see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” I looked at what she wore.

Blue text splashed across the front of Jacy’s pink maternity top asked, does this baby make me look fat?

“No, but she has misplaced it once or twice.” Brian grinned to soften what might have sounded like criticism. “Mostly on my account.”

I envied the fond look that passed between them—a look that spoke of shared jokes and a solid bond. Paul and I had never been that comfortable with each other. How had I not seen that from the start? Or how thin the layer of his charm had been. It didn’t matter now; I would never be that gullible again.

The doorbell shook me out of the early stages of a good brood, and if my smile was a little forced when I opened the door to let Neena in, I didn’t think she noticed.

“Hey.” Neena pulled off a knitted hat in the same deep blue as her eyes. A mass of dark and curly hair fell to her shoulders. We’d become close over the past few months. Well, as close as you can be to a woman who never suffered from hat hair.

“I brought wings and mushroom puffs.” The music of the south wove through her voice as she handed me an insulated carrier to hold while she stripped off her coat. “Does it have to be this cold?”

Comfortable in my house, Neena grabbed the container back and headed for my kitchen.

“You’re making me look bad,” Jacy called after her. “I didn’t cook.”

Brian opened his mouth, but Jacy cut him off. “Don’t say it.” She wagged a finger at him, but a smile played around the corner of her lips.

“I have to.” He took a step back to put himself out of reach. “Sure, you did. You’ve got a bun in the oven.”

Upon uttering the one pregnancy phrase he knew his wife could not abide, he went back out to the car to retrieve two bottles of sparkling cider while Jacy glared mock daggers at his back.

The mood was high as I followed Jacy into the kitchen to watch Neena pull the foil off a pan of chicken wings that smelled so good it was criminal.

“What’s in here?” Neena pointed to the first of several family-sized crock pots—thank you, Catherine, for being a hoarder—sitting on my countertop.

“Barbecued meatballs. The theme of the night is appetizers and finger food.”

Jacy reached around her to pop the cover off the pot with the chili. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.” She grabbed a bowl and a ladle. “We’re okay to eat now, right? Peanut wants the hot stuff.”

I laughed and waved her on. “Just remember to pace yourself.”

She dug in with gusto while Neena lifted lids to inspect the rest of the offerings.

“The last one is sort of a cheese fondue thing. “

“Nothing like starting the year off with clogged arteries.” Brian must have let Patrea and Chris in when he’d come back from the car. By now, the two men were probably in the living room talking sports.

I hugged Patrea hello and said, “There’s a veggie platter in the fridge, Your Pickiness, and I used low-fat sour cream to make the dip.” I didn’t toss out a so there at the end, but it was implied.

Stepping back, I studied Patrea while Neena and Jacy talked in low voices about how much business they’d done for the day. Their shop, part secondhand store, part art gallery, had been as dead as everywhere else in town.

“What? Is my shirt on inside out or something?”

“No,” I replied, giving her the once-over. She wore jeans, a relatively new look for her, and a soft sweater in a shade that set off her eyes. Eyes no longer framed by lines of tension. “You look happy. It’s good? With Chris, I mean.”

“Very good.” She nodded.

I couldn’t help it; I pried. “Like break into song in the grocery store good?”

“Better.”

I’d planned to tell her about the FBI van but decided that could wait. I didn’t have the heart to wreck her mood. Time enough for that when she didn’t look contented as a cat with a bowl of cream.

“What have we got for eats?” Brian’s first glance upon entering the room went to Jacy. It happened every time, and I doubted he even realized he did it—that quick check to make sure she was there and the little smile that came when she was. “Something smells good.”

We ate, we talked, we decided what games to play, and even though I was sure she’d moved on to the next plane of existence, I thought Catherine would approve of the way the house rang with laughter.

Later, while the men were setting up the whiteboard for Win, Lose, or Draw in the living room, Neena cornered me over the pot of fondue. “Did you hear the latest gossip?” Expertly, she whirled a pretzel rod through the smooth, cheesy sauce, then wrapped a pepperoni slice around the cheese and took a bite.

“I heard Viola’s getting up a petition to have the school board erect a statue of Hudson out by the football field.”

Neena shook her head. “That’s old news. She went after Harley Thomas at the VFW Christmas party, and he told her it wasn’t gonna happen even if she got the Pope to put his name down. The best they could do, he said, was put Hudson’s name on a brass plate and dedicate one of the sections of bleachers to him.”

“Are things still good between you and her?”

Viola Montayne was Neena’s mother-in-law. When Neena’s husband Hudson had been killed the previous June, Viola had done everything in her power to drive her son’s widow out of town. The two grieving women finally managed to come together over Christmas, but with Viola, Neena would probably always be on precarious footing.

“Oh, as long as I let her think she’s got some say over me, we’ll get along. We both loved her son, after all. That gives us common ground.”

I wished I hadn’t brought up Viola and reminded Neena of her loss. Though I supposed thoughts of Hudson were never far from her mind. He’d been my first ghost, but I didn’t intend to tell Neena that particular story.

As far as she and everyone except for Jacy was concerned, a freak event saved me from being strangled by Hudson’s killer. Who would believe me if I said his ghost had thrown a mannequin head down the stairs and knocked out the man who’d had his hands around my throat?

“Anyway,” Neena continued, “you know the storefront next to the tackle shop has been empty since Natalie closed the yoga studio three years ago, right? Well, there’s been activity in the building this week.”

In the middle of our speculating whether Natalie might reopen the studio, Jacy let out a moan.

“What?” One look at her, and I called for Brian. “Something’s wrong with Jacy.”