I park my car on the gravel driveway and step out, glancing behind me, back toward the street. I don’t know why I do it, but I can feel the paranoia inside of me, just starting to grow.

I think about Wyatt as I walk up toward the little house. I keep seeing the way he looked at me last night, jokingly talking about coming inside with me, but I’m not so sure it was a joke. There’s a tension between us, and it’s always there, no matter what we’re doing. Maybe I want to keep trying to pretend like it’s not an intense attraction, but I honestly don’t know how long that’s going to last.

Because the truth is, I want him. I know I shouldn’t, for a lot of reasons. Mainly, he’s the one that’s helping me solve this case. I need him to be objective and invested in this, the case, not in whatever’s brewing between the two of us. And on top of that, last night showed me just how dangerous this whole thing is.

My brother was murdered. I can’t forget that. Someone killed him violently, viciously, and we want to find that person and throw them in prison for a very long time. Whoever did it doesn’t want to be found, for obvious reasons.

I can’t risk a distraction, either. One false step and we’re both screwed. And after that mystery man stopped by my apartment to root through my trash, I’m already scared enough. They know I’m on to them, that I’m the one helping to investigate this. They’re not going to back down until they scare me away, or worse.

But on top of all that, Wyatt was my brother’s friend. That specter of Atticus is keeping me away from him, because I know Atticus wouldn’t have wanted me to get involved with his friends. Or maybe that’s just the old Cora talking, maybe he’d be happy that I found someone like Wyatt.

It’s hard to say. The Atticus I used to know and the Atticus that got killed are two very, very different people.

I reach the front door and don’t bother to knock. I push it open, stepping into the familiar living room. I shut the door behind me as my mother pokes her head out from the kitchen.

“Hi, mom,” I say.

“Come home to do laundry?”

I wince a little bit. My mom still thinks I’m a little kid. “No, I actually do that at my own apartment.”

“Right.” She has a cigarette in her hand, which makes me frown. I thought she quit a couple months ago, but I don’t say anything. “Well, come on in.”

She’s sitting in the kitchen with her laptop on the table and a glass of wine next to it. She’s looking at Facebook, and I bet she’s been talking on the phone. This is a pretty typical Sunday morning for her, and it’s actually a good sign. Right after Atticus was found dead, she couldn’t do anything but lie in bed and drink. At least now she’s doing her drinking in the kitchen.

“Want something to eat?” she asks me.

“No, I’m okay.” I put my bag down on a chair. I open up the refrigerator and take out a Coke, popping it open.

“Do you know how to block people on Facebook?” she asks me, sitting down again in front of her laptop and slipping some glasses onto her nose.

I laugh a little. “Sure, why?”

“It’s this guy from way back.” She frowns, shaking her head. “Keeps messaging me about Atticus.”

“What kind of messages?” I ask, looking over her shoulder.

“Trying to be nice. But really, wanting something.” She looks up at me. “Know what I mean?”

I just nod. “Here, this is how you do it.”

She shows me the guy’s page. He looks pretty bland, but they always do. Internet creeps are more common than genuinely nice people, unfortunately. I block him for her before sitting down in the chair across the table.

“Thanks,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. I sip my Coke. “What are you up to today?” she asks me.

I shrug a little. “Probably seeing Wyatt later.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Atticus’s old friend? The cop?”

“That’s the one,” I say.

“What are you hanging around him for?”

I can’t bear to look at her. “We’re investigating the murder.”

She goes silent. It’s that word, “murder,” she’s unable to say it. Makes her clam up whenever someone else does, like she’s in denial or something. Like they didn’t find her son’s body stabbed and shot.

“You should let the police handle that,” she says finally.

“Maybe. But let’s be honest, mom. They’re not exactly working hard.”

Her face shows nothing. “I’m sure they’re trying.”

“Maybe.” I finally meet her gaze directly. “Can you do me a favor?”

She sighs. “What?”

“Do you remember his ex very well?”

“Which one?”

“Kristi,” I say. “Short, hair dyed streaky blonde.” I hesitate before adding, “Junkie, like him.”

That jogs her memory. “Never liked her.”

“Were they close?”

She shrugs. “He mentioned her once or twice.” She laughs suddenly. “She came over for dinner a few months ago.”

“Really?”

“She was so strung out, hell, so was he. I could tell, but I didn’t say anything. At the end of dinner, Atticus asked for money like always.”

I nod, not surprised. “What was she like?” I press. “Did they seem like they got along?”

She shrugs. “She was fine. Not the kind of girl I wanted him around, but what could I do?” She takes a big drink of her wine.

I decide to change tack. “There’s someone else, a guy he was friends with.”

“Honey, do we really need to do this?”

“Yes,” I say. “The guy’s name is Jaxson.”

Her face clouds over at that name. “I remember him,” she says.

“Atticus didn’t tell me anything about his life. I think he tried to hide it all from me, except for when he asked for money, of course.”

She nods at that. “Probably wanted to protect you. He’s your older brother.”

“What do you know about Jaxson?” I ask her.

“Nothing good. He’s trouble.”

That part’s pretty clear to me already, but getting her to open up is like pulling teeth. It’s always been like that with my mother. She’d rather drink than talk about anything important, and for the most part, that’s been fine. I can ignore things just like she can. But this, we can’t ignore this.

Atticus is dead, and his killer is still out there.

“What’s he like now?” I ask her.

She shrugs a little. “How should I know? Your brother didn’t tell me anything about his life.” She takes another drink. “Except for when he wanted money. And the occasional visit, which usually ended with him asking for money.” She makes a face. “I wish I hadn’t given him a dime.”

“He would have found other, harder ways,” I say softly. “So he never mentioned Jaxson?”

Mom shakes her head. “Not once. But I do know his parents, and they’re no good. They live over in the trailers on Maple, you know the ones.”

I do know the ones. That’s this area’s infamous trailer park, the place that kids talk about with awe. It’s where all the bad people live, but really it’s just like any other trailer park. It’s funny how ideas can grow so big in the minds of kids.

“Are you sure you don’t know anything about him?” I press a little harder. “Anything at all?”

She sighs. “What can I say, honey? Other than that dinner with the girl, he barely talked to me.” She suddenly makes a face and cocks her head. “Actually, he did say something that night.”

I lean forward in my chair. “What?”

“When he asked me for money, he said something about having a big job soon with a friend of his, a guy I might remember.” She blinks, and looks at me. “Could that be Jaxson?”

I frown. “Maybe. What kind of job?”

“He just made it seem like he’d be able to pay me back as soon as the job was over. And the girl said that ‘J’ was going to take care of them. Whatever that means.”

I finger my can of Coke, staring at the tabletop. Kristi talked about a “J,” could that be Jaxson? And this job Atticus was talking about, could it have been with Jaxson?

It’s flimsy, and I probably would have overlooked it entirely if Jaxson hadn’t pulled that shit last night. He was clearly trying to scare us away. I assumed that was just because we were sniffing around the Niners, and he didn’t like that.

But maybe it’s personal for him. Maybe he had some job with Kristi and Atticus, and the job went wrong. That could be why Kristi ran off to her mom’s.

I stand up suddenly. “Thanks, mom.”

She looks surprised. “That’s it?”

“Sorry, I gotta go.”

“Some kid you are.”

I go over and kiss her cheek. “At least I’m not asking for money.”

She makes a face. “Yeah, you got that going for you.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I grab my purse and hurry back outside and down to my car. I get my phone out and call Wyatt. He answers on the second ring.

“Can we meet up?” I say to him.

“Hello to you too,” he answers. “Yeah, we can meet up. I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“Cut it out, I’m serious. My mom said something just now.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you in person. Meet me at the Great American, okay?”

“Okay,” he says. “When?”

“Right now. Ten minutes.”

“See you there.”

I hang up my phone and start my engine. I’m not sure if what I’m thinking makes any sense, so I have to run it by Wyatt. He’ll know what to make of this, if anything.

But I can see this. I can see how this might make sense. I drive fast, heart beating hard, nerves running all along my skin.