Coffee was a little bit of heaven on earth.

Gabby sniffed deeply, then savored the strong flavor. Nothing started her day like coffee. Especially when her day started earlier than normal. But sleep had eluded her after her show, teasing her until she’d finally fallen into a restless slumber.

Until ten-thirty.

Unheard of for her to be up at such an hour after working until six. But something had jerked her from her fragmented dream state. So she sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee, about to read the morning paper. She took another sip of coffee and unfolded the newsprint.

Her heart clutched as she read the headline.

Former Radio Station Owner Accused of Murdering Employee.

The coffee soured in her stomach as Gabby read the article, which went on to imply there was a divorce looming for the Ellisons, putting a dark slant on the argument between Robert and Howard in Ms. Minnie’s café and casting suspicion upon the recent sale of KLUV to Mr. McKay.

How dare the reporter print such unfounded claims? “According to a source close to Robert and Amber Ellison, a divorce sits on the horizon.” What kind of hogwash was that? She’d just seen Amber, who hadn’t even hinted at an impending divorce. And Robert hadn’t indicated anything of the sort. Talk about unethical reporting.

“Robert Ellison and Howard Alspeed argued publicly about the sale of KLUV, multiple eyewitnesses claim.” Gabby tightened her grip on the newsprint. It crinkled in response. Even the mildest of disagreements in the café would sound like a war after the gossips finished their tale. “Multiple witnesses”—Gabby had learned back in college that eyewitness accounts were the most unreliable. How irresponsible of the reporter, not to mention the editor, to give them such credence.

And that the article all but implied Robert had murdered Howard because they’d argued about Mr. McKay buying the station. That was just ludicrous.

Even worse, the article cited the forensic evidence. Like Robert’s fingerprints on the gun left at the scene. The gun that ballistics affirmed had been used to fire the killing shot. How had Robert’s fingerprints gotten on the firearm? Was Sheldon right—could he have wrestled with the killer for the gun?

But the evidence also posed more questions. If Robert shot Howard, how did Robert get hurt? The newspaper article implied he and Howard had struggled for the gun, and after Robert shot Howard, he fell backward, hitting his head and knocking him unconscious. Gabby couldn’t buy that. While both men were physically fit for their age, Howard was clearly the stronger man.

What, exactly, had really happened?

Gabby slung the newspaper across the kitchen table and shoved to her feet. She’d get to the truth. She’d prove Robert innocent. And then she’d take the reporter, and his editor, to task for such sloppy reporting.

She gathered her purse and headed to the grocery store. Maybe if she got enough pints of ice cream, it’d cool her temper.

Then again, maybe not.

Steaming mad, Gabby stormed through her grocery shopping with the force of a class-4 hurricane, hoping her friends and neighbors who she passed as she shopped would have the good sense to keep their distance. For the most part, they did. Right up until she sped around a standing display of Tony Chachere’s and smacked right into Clark McKay.

“I take it you read the article,” Clark said.

Gabby’s face turned a brighter shade of red and the muscles in her jaw twitched and jumped. “It’s disgraceful. The paper all but convicted him without even waiting to hear his side!”

He bet she didn’t have a clue how cute she was when flustered. Clark studied the flames flickering in her eyes. Probably wouldn’t be the smartest move to comment on that Gabbyism right now. “One thing I’m curious about. They mentioned Mr. Ellison’s fingerprints on the gun. I’ve heard nothing about if they found gunpowder residue on his hand.”

She snorted—a subtle, ladylike snort, but a snort just the same. “You know, they probably didn’t even check.” Her head jerked right, then left, her gaze scanning the aisle. “Or they did and didn’t find any. I wonder if they let his attorney know.”

“So Amber’s hired an attorney even though the charges haven’t officially been filed?”

“They’ll be as soon as he wakes up. Why wait? But the lawyer—he’s nice and all, but I don’t know how well he’ll do. Honestly, I don’t think there’s ever been a murder in Mystique. At least not one that went to trial.”

“So he’s not familiar with criminal defense?”

“No.”

Clark let out a long, tired sigh. “That doesn’t bode very well for Mr. Ellison. Is there anyone else we could hire? The station would pay for his legal fees.”

Her beautiful eyes widened, and he thought he caught a glimpse of respect and gratitude shimmering in the irises. “It’s a kind offer, but there’s no one else here.”

There it was again—the challenge in not only her words, but her eyes, as well. That look made him want to be the man he thought he’d left behind. The man who fought the battles that needed fighting, no matter what the odds. “Then we’ll have to help.”

That stopped her in her tracks. Those expressive eyes of hers widened. Her hands dropped from her hips and hung loosely at her sides. She shifted her weight from one heeled foot to the other. “You really do believe he’s innocent.”

“I do. And I meant what I said—we’ll use all of KLUV’s resources to uncover the truth. Mr. Ellison might have already sold the station when Mr. Alspeed was murdered, but Mr. Alspeed was an employee. I want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Me, too. Where do we start?”

“Let me do some digging and see if I can find out about the gunpowder residue. That’d be a good starting point.”

Her mouth dropped open, hung agape for a long second, then her lips clamped shut. “I need to get these groceries home.”

“Why don’t I meet you at the station when you’re done? We can put together a game plan of sorts.” He held his breath, then argued against his own logic. Why did he care a flip what she thought? She was an employee. He was her boss.

“I’ll finish up here, then meet you at KLUV. Eric should be there now. Talk with him. He’s been station manager for several years. Even though he’s a little young and cocky, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders.”

Except she wasn’t aware of his conversation with Eric, where the station manager had all but told him to back out of buying KLUV. What would she say if she knew?

Turning away from him, she headed to the registers, her step still brisk and purposeful, but thankfully no longer as anger-fueled as it had been.

Clark watched her go, questioning himself. Just why, he railed against his stupid emotions, did it matter so much what opinion Gabby Rogillio had of him? He couldn’t answer.

He only knew it did.

After completing his shopping, checking out, then running the staples to his house, he headed to KLUV. He whipped into the parking lot, taking note that Gabby’s SUV was already parked in its familiar place.

He strode into the coolness, grateful to be out of the early afternoon’s unforgiving sun.

“Hello, Mr. McKay.” The part-time receptionist, Ellen, smiled a little too brightly as she stood and handed him several slips of paper. “Here are your messages. I’m glad you got here before I left so I could give them to you personally.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a curt nod and took the slips. He’d have to see about hiring an afternoon receptionist soon. “Are Eric and Gabby in his office?”

“Yes, sir.” She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “With the door closed,” she whispered.

What did that mean? What was she implying? Maybe he’d just hire someone else as a full-time receptionist.

He didn’t bother to reply, just strode down the hall to the station manager’s office. The door wasn’t closed, not really. There was a crack. He tapped on the door. It swung open.

Gabby sat in the chair in front of Eric’s desk. Both bolted to their feet, but neither looked uncomfortable at his interruption. His heart thudded a little faster.

“Would you like to go to your office?” Gabby asked.

“No. This is fine.” He took the other seat in front of Eric’s desk, and Gabby sat back in her chair.

Eric sat, as well. “I spoke with Kevin. He’s covering Howard’s time slot for the time being.”

“Thank you.” Clark noticed the bead of sweat on the station manager’s upper lip. “We’ll need to consider hiring someone on a permanent basis for the position.”

“We usually run an ad in the Natchez paper.” Eric glanced at Gabby, then tiptoed his gaze back to Clark. “Unless there’s someone you already have in mind.”

Ah, so that’s why the station manager was so nervous—worried he’d be firing people to replace them with his own crew. Maybe this was what had prompted Eric’s little talk with him before.

Clark smiled and leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “I have no one else in mind.” He cleared his throat. “Let me go ahead and get this straight—I have no intention of clearing house to bring in my people.”

Eric smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“I mean it. I don’t want to disrupt a good team.” He curled his palms into fists. “Now, we will have to hire someone to take over the morning slot. I’d prefer to hire locally if at all possible.”

“I’ll get an ad together and get it in the paper.” Eric nodded.

Clark cut his eyes to Gabby, who sat stiff, staring at the undecorated wall. What was going through that quick mind of hers? “Gabby, your thoughts?”

She jerked her attention to him. “Me? Why ask me? I’m just a deejay.”

“The best one this station has, according to the numbers. I’m asking your opinion.”

Her cheeks tinged pink. “Then I agree with what Eric suggests. Ads. Interviews. Whatever.” She flicked her wrist and waggled her fingers.

“But we’re a team, and I want to make sure everyone gets along. Can’t have feuding.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Clark wished he could pull them back. Feuding…that’s what put Robert Ellison in the sheriff’s crosshairs for murdering Howard.

Gabby’s eyes bugged and moistened, pushing Clark’s regret even further.

He swallowed against a dry mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

She shook her head. “No reason to apologize. I get what you’re saying. I do.” She blinked furiously. “It’s just hard.”

“I know.” His own voice thickened.

“How about I run the ad and do preliminary interviewing, then when there are only a few good candidates, I bring them in to interview with you, Mr. McKay, and you can introduce them to any of the staff? Would that work?” Eric held a pen over a pad of paper.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Gabby smiled at the station manager. “Eric, you rock.”

Clark’s breathing hitched.

What would it take for Gabby to think he rocked?