McKinnon had good reason for his distance from her. He had been in the feed mill one day waiting on an order to be filled when Joe Corrigan, a fellow director, and not one of his favourite people, came up to him.
"I hear you have our little Inspector tucked away in a nest in the country. Cozy. Following your wife's footsteps, are you?"
As his face turned beet red, McKinnon's fist bunched up and his body coiled like an overdrawn bowstring. Struggling for control, he just muttered, "I'm not even going to dignify that remark with an answer. But I will tell you this. If I hear you've repeated it anywhere, I'll flatten you. Got that?"
Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the mill and roared off in his truck, his order forgotten.