Lorne wrapped me in a tight hug, my voice trembling as I asked, "Why did we choose User Error?"

"The wailing of the alarm will have scared away the intruders, and by turning it off, there'd be no automatic notification to cause the police to scramble to the address."

"Let the goons escape, then?"

"The stakeouts will have cameras recording activity for later analysis. The alarm will have alerted them to watch more closely, and they know not to blow their cover and apprehend. They're aware of the far broader implications of this and of the need for patience."

"Ummm, yeah."

"And we can hope that those directing the goons might interpret the alarm cancellation as you being home to do it. People often open a window or a door, forgetting they have perimeter alarms set."

I nodded. "Yeah, I've done that. Got a phone call to confirm after I shut it off."

"So, our postulations appear to be plausible."

"Your postulations; I'm just along for the ride with them."

"Far more than that, Kate. They evolved with your questions and insights. I'd have been far off on tangents without those."

I gave him a squeeze and nodded over my shoulder. "We should continue with breakfast, Lorne. I burnt a lot of energy last night and this morning, and I'm famished."

"Ummm, same."

I continued with the mushrooms, and when finished, I asked, "What next?"

Lorne pointed to the fridge. "We've jambon persiellée that was to be last evening's entré. You could dice a slab. It's in the square LocknLock on the top shelf."

I took the container out and opened it to see five slices. "These will keep well until next week's dinner, Lorne. Safe for a long time stored like this. Anything else I could dice?"

"We'll be six next week, so I have to buy more, anyway. Use the top one, the least aesthetic – that was to be mine."

"Ummm! So, your prepping for dinner yesterday? Mostly wasted?"

"No, a slow-cooker of boeuf bourgignon." He pointed along the granite countertop. "Now on auto keep-warm, and the frites are cut and blanching in the fridge. We can have those for dinner the next two days, and the pôchouse can be our lunches. The époisses, bleu de Bresse and bouton de culotte will only improve over the week – or we can enjoy them and replenish."

I licked my lips. "Ooh! I love traditional Burgundian meals. What wines had you chosen?"

"A sparring match between Quails' Gate and Louis Jadot. The '09 Family Reserve chard against the '09 Meursault Genevrières, and the '06 Family Reserve pinot noir against the '06 Beaune Grèves."

"Oh, God! A dream. Please, don't wake me." I chuckled. "And you do this every week?"

"We try to, but life sometimes intervenes, so we push the schedule a week – like we did last evening."

A while later, as we sat eating our frittata and sipping double espressos, Lorne said, "The first thing is to see if Yelp, Tripadvisor, Zomato, DineHere, and the other patron review sites still show the failed restaurants."

"Nathan said he had begun digging in Bluestone's reviews, so those were still there. Don't know which site, though."

"Ummm, possibly the site admins are too busy to take down closed places. Though, they may keep them up to prevent users' ratings from declining."

"Ratings?"

"Some of the sites rate a reviewer's credibility by the number of reviews they've posted."

"Hmmm!" I looked up from my coffee. "But rated on quantity, not quality." I paused to take a sip. "AIso, if they're using fake reviews to manipulate, there's likely a pattern. Possibly what Nathan saw – the same accounts posting low reviews on the failed restaurants and high ones on their reincarnations."

"Yeah, and the geeks at RCMP HQ can analyse this."

"And with review accounts so simple to open, the manipulators likely have dozens, even hundreds."

Lorne paused a bite short of his mouth and nodded. "Making it easier for the analysts' algorithms to find patterns."

"So, what's our next step?"

"See if we can sort out how the restaurants are keeping all the dining columnists and foodie bloggers writing the glowing praise."

"That would be from Cynthia's grand opening presentations. All the bumf she stuffs into the media kits."

"Yes, but beyond that?" Some continue posting laudatory crap long after the opening – long after the quality and service have declined."

"Hmmm! Maybe the restaurants start a blog – many blogs – and pretend they're independent reviewers."

Lorne nodded. "Possible. But it's tough for new blogs to get followers, so there'd be little or no effect."

"True."

He pointed to our plates. "Let's quietly ponder while we eat. Discuss our thoughts after we've finished."

A few minutes later, as we loaded the dishwasher, he asked, "Are you absolutely certain that only me and your editor know you're K ate?"

"Yeah, not even Nathan. Didn't trust him to keep it quiet. So much easier now..." I blew a loud breath and closed my eyes in a wince. "Oh, God! Why did I say that?"

Lorne wrapped me in a hug and stroked my back. "Don't judge your thoughts, Kate. As Professor Bonanno said, your body and your emotions know what works for you. Loss, bereavement and grieving are complex. Don't judge yourself."

"Ummm." I remained quiet for a while, enjoying Lorne's comforting as I thought about what I had said. But it is easier – even in the chaos of this uncertainty. Because of Nathan's difficulty? Or Lorne's ease? Both. Likely magnified because Lorne's so fricking – whoa! But he is. Yeah, he is.

I nuzzled my face in his chest and heaved a quiet sigh. "Thank you."

"You've been through a lot. Might be best to put this aside for a while."

"No, let's keep going. Why had you asked about K ate?"

"A thought. Maybe I could pretend to be you – or the one who writes your column and blog."

"Why would you want to do that?

"You have a huge following, both in print and online. Any restaurant would scramble to host you as a dining guest. And knowing your impact, the less foursquare ones might manipulate – serve dishes closer to the quality of the opening presentations – as they might be doing with the known writers."

"The ones with their snouts in the trough, as you had called it."

"Yeah, a good explanation for their continuing praise."

I lifted my head and gazed into his eyes. "How would you do this?"

"Wheels are still turning – follow me. None in the trade know me as anything but a wine writer, and none know who K ate is. Introduce myself and ask for a table. Experience what happens when the other writers do this."

"Hmmm! Anybody could walk in and try that – likely, many do. You need to appear legitimate. Need to present them with a calling card."

"Yeah, so easy to create them these days."

I pointed toward my backpack. "I toyed with a design when I started the column and blog, never thinking they would remain anonymous for so long. Still in my computer on an Avery template. We can buy cardstock and print some."

"Good idea. There's a Best Buy just up Cambie from here."

"Great, and while we're there, I can buy charging cables for my MacBook and my iPhone." I pulled out the front of my hoody and let it plop back into place. "And I need clothes, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a –"

"It's not safe for you out there."

"But with my hood up, it would be."

Lorne pointed to the sunlight streaming through the windows, pursed his lips and shook his head.

"But they think I'm still in the townhouse."

"That's only our postulation, Kate. It's not fact."