Not because Dave, ex-boyfriend and eleven-toed homicide detective, showed up at her door before she even had her coffee. Dammit, they’d dated long enough for him to know she couldn’t function without at least two cups—which, okay, now that she thought about it, was probably why he showed up when he did. It wasn’t even because Dave still had six toes on one foot—she’d already asked. It was because Dave, shockingly, seemed to think she was lying about not knowing the whereabouts of her friend Lucinda Hollander. Men. Who could figure them? “Dave, I told you almost a month ago, I don’t know where Lucy is.” Although she addressed Dave by name, Phoebe was actually talking to the coffeemaker, because she had her elbows propped on the countertop watching it as she waited impatiently for the last few dribbles to sputter into the carafe. But she wasn’t lying to either of them. She really did tell Dave almost a month ago that she didn’t know where Lucy was. And when she told him that almost a month ago, she wasn’t lying then, either.
