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“Please be careful.”

“I am,” I replied. “Wes is coming by the bar after the reception to look at the damage and give an estimate for a new door.”

Jude seemed to consider my statement. “That’s good,” he said. “Wes is good at what he does. Hazel trusted him.” A very brief hesitation, and then he added, “Come by the shop tomorrow if you want to talk.”

I looked him straight in the eyes. “I want to talk,” I told him.

“Then stop by when you have a chance.”

He reached out to give my arm a brief, reassuring pat — startling me a little, since it was the first time we’d ever touched — and then headed down the steps toward Father Esteban, who was shaking hands with a line of mourners wanting to pay their respects.

And I walked through the parking lot and down the street so I could retrieve my car and go home.

Once I was there, I got out of my mourning clothes and back into the black jeans and oversized sweater I’d worn the night before. The day had been sunny but noticeably colder, a little hint of what I could expect once winter truly decided to descend.

That was all right, though. A brisk walk would help to clear my head, and I knew Chauncey would be game for a ramble even though he usually got walked in the morning and again in the late afternoon if I was home. I didn’t see any sign of Hazel, and I suspected she was taking some private time of her own to mourn, and maybe to send Father Frank a mental apology for not being able to attend his funeral.

Even though Roz hadn’t specifically asked me to be present, I knew I was going to head down to Copper State Cellars after I was done with the dog walk. No way in the world was I going to miss seeing Wes Lindley in action.

When I got there, he’d already pried off the plywood Roz’s husband had nailed up the night before and was examining the damage to the door frame. Up close, Wes looked pretty much like what I’d been expecting — a guy who owned a construction company, tall and lean, in his late thirties with rough, capable-looking hands. Obviously, he’d changed out of the suit he’d been wearing at the funeral and now had on faded Levi’s, a flannel shirt, and work boots.

When he caught sight of me, he extended a hand.

“Roz tells me you’re Hazel’s great-niece,” he said. His voice was pleasant but reedy, almost thin. “I was sorry I missed her funeral, but I had a job out of town that day. She was a fine lady. I didn’t know her well, but she was good people.”

I supposed that was one thing we could agree on.

“Thank you,” I said. “It feels good to know she was such a big part of the community here.”

He nodded, but then immediately returned his attention to the door. “The frame looks worse than it is,” he told me and Roz, who’d been standing off to one side during our exchange. “Just needs some filler and some new paint. But I recommend that you get a steel-core door with a good deadbolt and a strike plate that won’t pop under pressure. I can head over to Lowe’s and pick one up for you if that sounds all right.”

My knowledge of doors, steel-core or otherwise, wasn’t exactly what you could call vast, so I just nodded. “That sounds great. When can you have it done?”

“By tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” he said. A barely perceptible pause, and then he added, “While I’m here, I should probably have a look at that connecting door so I can make sure nothing’s been disturbed.”

“Um…sure,” I said.

He nodded, then began to head toward the back hallway, and I followed him. As far as I could tell, he didn’t seem too bothered by this, and ambled toward the hidden door. He stopped there and studied it, then pressed hard on it, checking the seam.

“It’s solid,” he told me. “Whoever tried it didn’t get anywhere. The seam is holding from this side.”

I supposed I should be glad of that. It meant the intruder, whatever they’d been up to, hadn’t done anything except break in. And nothing had been taken, so I supposed I should just look at it as no harm, no foul.

But still….

What exactly had the intruder been looking for?

“Well,” Wes went on, now sounding almost too cheerful. “Looks like I’d better head down to Lowe’s and see about getting that back door replacement. How late will you be open tomorrow?”

“Six,” I said. Our usual closing time was nine on Thursdays, but Roz had told me she was going to close early most of this week because of everything that had been going on.

A nod. “Okay. Well, let me board up the door again, and I’ll be back tomorrow sometime to get everything fixed.”

He nailed the plywood back in place — much more expertly than Roz’s husband had — and then left through the front door.

Mack had been at the end of the bar the whole time, watching everything Wes and I had been saying. His expression was unreadable, so I had no idea what he was thinking.

But as soon as Wes was gone, Mack drifted over to the spot where I was standing.