“You know how many times I’ve ridden into town in the middle of the night, thrown someone into a cell, an’ then caught shut-eye until noon? If someone’s behind bars, there’s a reason. Did you check with Norah to see if a marshal came through?”

The sheriff hesitated.

“No,” he said quietly.

“Did you check with me to see if we put anyone in?”

“I thought ye retired.”

Grace shrugged. “Just cause a body retire don’t mean they give up.”

“Did you arrest anyone last night?” Lyman asked, curiosity piqued.

“No,” Grace admitted. “But it is always a possibility to consider.”

“Norah, you get any new visitors last night?” The sheriff asked, not sure if he was hoping for another negative answer or not.

Norah plopped a plate of the sheriff's favorite biscuits in front of him with a solid thump. The older woman's expression was disapproving. "Where do ya think I'd have fit another soul? In the woodshed?"

She sighed. It was too early in the morning to be peeved, not when she had meals to plan and people to feed. After all, it wasn't the sheriff's fault there were a lot of newcomers in town...

"We get any more folks, I'll have to build an addition--and then where would I be if that resort gets built? Sittin' here with a huge empty house, that's where."

"If I hear one more person talkin' about how good that resort will be for this town, I'll shoot 'em," Grace grumbled, snagging a biscuit.

The sheriff cast her a look. She took a bite out of the biscuit and waved the remainder at him.

"Back in my day, before folks like you came about, a man lived or died by his word," she said. "An' someone tryin to upset the applecart for everyone else was apt to eat lead or get strung up. Your patience with this whole shebang is tryin' my patience."

Breakfast at Norah's

Encouraged by Faye and Molly, Anthony gathered his recollections of the lecture. He'd been a late arrival, but he doubted Dr. Millner would have noticed that fact. But there'd been the thrill of discovering a potential new source...

Unfortunately, Grace was sitting next to the sheriff. Anthony chewed his lip nervously. He wished Molly hadn't brought up the gun; Grace seemed to be the one people talked about as a sharpshooter and that made it hard to muster the same enthusiasm for a song.

But acting was just another performance and if there was one thing Anthony knew, it was that the show must go on. He stood.

"Excuse me? Dr. Millner? Platapuses, what a surprise to see you here! Isn't it great? I wanted to thank you again--" Anthony took Millner's hand and wrung it enthusiastically. "Truly, an inspiring talk!"

Just ramble, Anthony, he told himself. It's music. You're harmless. Just another eccentric musician. They tolerate Harry.

"I have questions, though. You remember how you mentioned details? I'm particularly interested in immigrant heritage and the songs they brought with them and how they adapted them to new circumstances. I've been tracking a few, like Chapin's "Ocean Burial" which reappears as "Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie"--I can show you my notes if you have time--"

The Sheriff blinked a couple times, then reached up under his cowboy hat and subconsciously rubbed his head.

"Well, you see, I'm afraid that music is not exactly my specialty, you see," he explained apologetically. "But I suppose I could point you in the right direction, Mr....?"

Breakfast at Norah's

Hannah quietly sat to listen to the recollection, she tried to remember if she was there for that or had arrived after when all of this happened.

Breakfast at Norah's

Lively," supplied Anthony. "Anthony Lively--of the musical Livelys. You name it, one of us sings it or plays it. I'm here in Ditto Town interviewing for a job in early musical education."

He tried to maintain eye contact with the sheriff, willing Millner (if it was Millner, but the resemblance was uncanny if it wasn't Dr. Millner, and hadn't the offer to point Anthony in the direction of reliable sources been the way that the original conversation progressed?) to remember something helpful.

"Right, yes, sources--anything would be much appreciated. Let me give you my contact info!"

Anthony reached inside his jacket, where he usually kept a stack of business cards and a pen, and found that they had vanished when the wardrobe change was effected. He continued to grin to cover the fumble.

"You'll be able to find me right here, at the Thamer House, or maybe shootin' the breeze with the insurance agent."

The sheriff's brows had lightly knit, almost like he had a memory that had only downloaded 78%. The mention of Thamer house, however snapped him out of it.

"Now, exactly what sort of shenanigans do you think you're getting up to this time?" he demanded gruffly.