Lips curving upward, she sets the coffee on the counter; once she's deposited the basket in the laundry room (which smells unmistakably like mustard), she surveys his handiwork.

"Let's see what you've done," she says with a light laugh, stepping closer.

After double-checking her watch and the instruction booklet, she switches the time Bill programmed from "p.m." to "a.m."; otherwise, the machine looks coffee-ready.

"Nice work, sheriff."