It took me all of sixty seconds to find contact information for Cameron Russo when I took some time Friday afternoon to do an online search. All I had to put in was “Cameron Russo, author” and I found a website and social media for several books he had written on true crime. From there, it was easy to read his bio and see he was a professor of history at a local university. I filled out the contact form on his website and requested an interview, dusting off my aspiring author alibi.

Then I called my sister, Jen, who had called me three times in the last week without me picking up. I had known she was going to pump me for details on finding remains. I was one hundred percent correct.

“Oh my God. Why haven’t you called me back? You found body parts? That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard, Bailey. Why do things like this always happen to you?”

That was her greeting. I bit into a carrot, knowing the sound would annoy her. “What are you talking about?” I was sitting in my back garden, enjoying the low-maintenance perennials that were blooming their little hearts out in the last days of August. “I’ve never found a body before.”

“What are you eating? Geez, my ear.”

“It’s a carrot. I’m being healthy. Everyone keeps telling me I look awful, so I’m trying to snack between meals.” At this point, I wasn’t upset about it anymore, I was appreciative of the concern with which the comments were made. But I was determined to get back to Bailey Burke, regular looks.

“Who told you that? I’ll kick their butts.”

Ryan, but I couldn’t tell her that. “Oh, Mom. Grandma. Marner.”

“But Mom said you’re dating Jake. He told you that you look terrible?”

“He said I look tired, though admittedly that was weeks ago. And sorry to disappoint you, I’m not dating him.” I really hadn’t ever been. One date didn’t constitute dating. “I did go on a coffee date with an accountant though, so please don’t offer me any more Texan men.”

My lounge chair creaked as I reached for my iced tea. Jen was perpetually distraught that I was alone. It was both endearing and annoying as hell. I wished she had taken a class in college on feminism, because she seemed convinced that the key to my happiness was finding a man. When really, the key to my happiness was a clean house and designer floral pumps. Also, having hair that didn’t inflate from the humidity would be nice, but no keratin treatment in the world could control my mane.

“I can’t help it. I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” Surprisingly, I realized that was true. I didn’t have to worry anymore that Ryan had killed himself because I had confessed I loved him. He hadn’t killed himself at all. I had a great house, a thriving career. Sure, I was being hugely inconvenienced by spirits popping in and out of my life, but after what I had been through emotionally when I thought I had a part in Ryan’s death, this was a piece of cake. Not the best cake ever, but a decent cake. Like grocery store cake. “But maybe I’ll come down for a few days over the winter when my business is slower. I can come when the baby is born.”

My sister was expecting her fourth child. She seemed happiest when she was pregnant, which struck me as insane. But she definitely glowed and had mounds of energy. Jen was never tired. It was bizarre. If I had any reason to envy her, that was it. She was so genuinely caring though, it was impossible to truly resent her.

“Oh my God, that would be fantastic, Bailey! Aww, thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“I’ll start looking at flights.” It was never a bad thing to get out of Cleveland in February anyway, though the beach was preferable. But Texas wouldn’t be subzero and buried in snow. Plus, I did love my niece and nephews and didn’t get to see them as often as I liked.

“Great! Hey, how’s Mom? Does she seem…cranky to you?”

That made me smirk. I shifted my legs, concerned I was getting burned in the hot sun. “Mom is always cranky. That can’t possible have escaped your notice.”

“I know, but she seems worse. How was the house tour?”

“She complained about everything.”

“Just keep an eye on her, okay?”

Her genuine concern gave me pause. “Okay. Sure.”

Then without warning Jen blurted, “I think Mom’s having an affair.”

I almost dropped my iced tea. “What? No, that’s ridiculous.” I meant that. “If Mom were having an affair, wouldn’t she be giddy? No one is cranky when they’re having an affair. They’re secretive, but excited, right?” I couldn’t say I had personal knowledge, but that just seemed like the basic psychology behind cheating. “Besides, wouldn’t she just leave Dad? Mom isn’t exactly a wimp when it comes to speaking her mind.”

‘That’s true, but I don’t know. Something is just weird. She keeps talking about some guy she works with.”

“She hasn’t with me.” But she would be more likely to share personal information with Jen than me. They had a closer bond. I was tighter with my dad. “Maybe she would feel less threatened if you pumped her for information, since you’re not here.”

“Maybe.”

Jen changed the subject to potty training and we chatted for a few minutes before ending the call. I sat there in my garden and pondered the idea of my mother being unfaithful to my father. It gave me the sensation that I had swallowed a cherry pit. As an adult, I could easily recognize that being married for thirty years couldn’t be easy, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t disappoint me if their marriage was in the toilet. I also wouldn’t want my father hurt by such a betrayal. Yet I just couldn’t wrap my head around my mother sneaking around and getting a little something on the side. It so wasn’t her style. Plus, she wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs these days, so I had a hard time visualizing the man who would want to sweep her off her feet.

My dad was coming over that afternoon to help me install a water feature, and when he showed up, I felt instantly guilty. Like I knew something I wasn’t supposed to, which was ludicrous, because Jen had zero reason to believe something was actually going on. I gave him a hug and tried not to be a freak.

“Hi, Daddy, how are you?”

He was a big guy. Six-foot-three and sporting the red nose of an Irish drinker. Everyone liked my dad. He was charming, funny, generous. A bit of a wheeler-dealer, but a good man. “Hey, Ginger, good to see you.”

Since Jen had gotten my mother’s very Anglo looks and coloring, my father had always enjoyed pointed out my more Irish complexion. He’d been calling me Ginger since I was a little kid. At one point around three years old I had been thoroughly confused as to what my actual name was. Mom called me Bailey, Dad, Ginger, and my grandmother had called me Margaret, which is my middle name. She thought it was crap to give a kid a surname as a first name. That is not a Christian name, she would always say.

When I burst into tears in preschool when the teacher kept pressing me to learn to write my name and I couldn’t choose, my father relegated Ginger to a rarely used nickname. Grandma hung tough though.

“How’s work?” he asked.

“It’s good. I’m really busy right now.” I led my father through my house to the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Got any whiskey?”

“Dad, it’s two in the afternoon.”

“And your point is?” Dad grinned at me. He started rummaging around in my cabinets, looking for booze. He was wearing a golf shirt and khaki shorts. He’d gained a little weight around the middle in recent months, but he was still in great shape. He was closing in on sixty and I realized I should talk to my sister and mom about doing some kind of party.

“Over the fridge,” I said, so he didn’t spend five minutes scouring my kitchen.

“Why don’t you have a bar cart?” he asked. “Or at least a wine cabinet. The cocktail is in again, kiddo. You have great style, you could do it up.”

“Except I don’t really drink and I don’t have people over that often.”

“Why not?” He pulled out a mini bottle of Jameson I’d bought to give as a gift to Ryan for his birthday. Before he died. “This all you have?”

“Yes.” I had poured out the bottle I had been drinking when Hannah had appeared in my kitchen. “But a little dab will do you.” I was a little concerned. My father had always liked a glass here and there, but he wasn’t one to go straight to the liquor cabinet. It made me wonder if Jen was right and there were cracks in my parents’ marriage and Dad knew it.

He snorted. “Let’s get to this. I want to be finished before the game starts.”

Because the neighborhood was a little noisy due to small lots and restaurant traffic, I thought a water feature would help to reduce the background noise. I had bought a wall that water cascaded down from with the help of a pump. “I looked the installation up online and the first thing we have to do is dig a hole.”

My father rolled his eyes at me. “You needed to look it up online to figure that out? Come on, kid, that one’s pretty obvious.”

Not to me. I hadn’t even considered where the pump was supposed to go. Or that there would be a pump. I had just wanted pretty trickling water. “I’ve never done this before.”

“I don’t think you’re going to do it in that outfit either. Don’t you own work clothes?” He gestured to my yoga pants and tank top.

“These are my workout clothes.”

“Not workout. No sipping green tea after hot yoga clothes. I mean dirty jeans and a paint splattered T-shirt.”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I don’t own those things.”

He shook his head. “You need to either marry a handyman or a rich guy.”

Everyone seemed obsessed with marrying me off lately. “Maybe I just need to get rich so I can hire people to do things for me.” I opened the back door and stepped out onto my stoop. “That’s what Mom would do if you weren’t around.”

“There’s a lot of things your mother would do if I weren’t around.”

Yikes. I hadn’t meant to suggest anything, but he looked gloomy, his focus on my yard, not me. I let it go and we worked well together for several hours. I was sweaty and overheated and Dad was covered in dirt, but the water feature was installed and burbling cheerfully in my backyard.

I offered to go get another bottle of Jameson because my father seemed tired and a little down. I felt partially responsible for that. He waved my offer off. “Nope, I’m good. I’m going to meet your Uncle Sean to watch the game.”

“Oh, fun. Tell him I said hi. Where are you going?”

“Some bar.” He brushed me off like he didn’t want to give specifics. “I’m going home to grab a shower.” He patted me on the shoulder and gave me a smile that wasn’t his usual boisterous self. “Enjoy your fountain, Ginger.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He gave me a wave and left. For some reason, instead of feeling satisfied with my newly installed water feature, I felt melancholy. My sister had gotten into my head. Dad’s behavior had seemed to confirm that Jen was right—something was off. Maybe it wasn’t infidelity. What if my father had cancer? There was a cheerful thought, but honestly, it was more believable than Mom jumping on a dating site for married people who want to cheat, or sneaking around with a co-worker.

Washing my hands at my kitchen sink, I stared out into my yard and tried to shake off my mood, deciding what to do with the rest of my day. I could work. Get a jump on the next week. I could see what Alyssa was doing. I could do research on the Torso Murders or question Phil in greater detail as to what he had been doing the night he died. Presumably if I called for him out loud, he would show up. Then again, maybe not. But none of that was going to make me feel any less restless, less anxious.

That was why when, after milling around aimlessly for an hour and doing some laundry, I agreed to meet Nick Pitrello at a comedy show. He apologized for the last minute invite, but he’d had plans with a friend who bailed and he said he immediately thought of me. I thought of Phil and his assessment of Nick as untrustworthy, but I was bored and I didn’t feel like being home alone. Alyssa had texted that she was hanging out with her brother and it was too late to text any of our other friends. I didn’t see our peripheral crowd all that often. When we did it was scheduled weeks in advance.

So I figured going to a comedy club with Nick wasn’t a bad deal. We wouldn’t even have to talk to each other. Unfortunately, the comedian wasn’t particularly funny. After the show, we wandered out of the theater a little shell-shocked by how lame the jokes were. Nick gave me a grimace.

“Geez, Bailey, I’m sorry. That was…”

“Awful,” I said. Then we both burst out laughing. “Oh my God, some of those jokes were just cringe worthy.”

“Normally I would say there’s a fine line between making your audience downright uncomfortable and making them laugh, but this guy was nowhere even near the line.” Nick paused on East 4^th, an area full of bars and restaurants that was closed to anything but foot traffic. “Do you want to get a drink? I’m not much of a drinker usually, but I need to wash away the shame of taking you to that mess. Again, I am so sorry.”

“Sure.” The night had cooled down and it was the perfect temperature, hovering in the low seventies, with a light breeze. The lights of all the venues were twinkling and people were walking, chatting, laughing. This was what I had needed—to see life happening. To see fellow humans living in the moment. “No need to apologize. It’s not your fault. What is mind-boggling to me is that he was paid to do that.”

It might have just been my need to be out and about, but Nick didn’t seem as odd to me this time. Maybe we were far enough removed from finding body parts that he wasn’t on edge. He was being the real him.

“Right?” Nick said. “If you could get paid to be awkward I would have left high school a millionaire. How did that guy get away with it?”

That made me laugh. We were chatting easily enough, and he was one of those guys who offered a suggestion, “Should we get a drink here?” but then wasn’t offended when I said it was too crowded and I’d prefer to go somewhere else. I had been on enough first and second dates to know that a lot of men (and presumably women as well) liked to think they were accommodating by posing what they wanted as a suggestion, when in reality they just wanted you to agree with them. It was half the reason I had given up on online dating. Well, that and the fact that one guy had been on his cellphone when I’d walked into the restaurant and had snapped his fingers at me and pointed to the stool next to him where I had sat for five minutes while he screamed at whoever was on the line.

Nick’s ego didn’t seem attached to me liking whatever he suggested, and I appreciated that. I couldn’t imagine that he was a killer. He was too mild-mannered, yet not socially awkward. He was confident with me, and pleasant with serving staff, though not flirtatious with our cute bartender. He paid for my drink without making a weird issue out of it, and he didn’t talk about his mother or any exes, all the usual red flags. We had settled in a lounge that had jazz playing lightly in the background, but the acoustics allowed us to have a conversation without shouting.

He talked about growing up with five siblings and going to Ohio State, and he asked me about my business, seeming genuinely impressed, or at least curious. We didn’t discuss bodies at all. When he invited me to see his loft, which was within walking distance, I hesitated. It felt like a come on, and I wasn’t feeling that after 1.5 dates. But he put his hands up.

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. But it’s a beautiful night and there’s a cool view from my balcony. My roommate is home, if that makes you feel any better.”

We were standing on the street corner and I pulled hair off of my lips that the breeze had deposited there. “Oh, you have a roommate?”

He nodded. “Buying the condo was one thing, affording it is another. I don’t want a roommate forever, but for now, it makes good sense financially. He’s a med student, so he’s not around much.”

Okay, now I was intrigued. A medical student roomie. So maybe Nick wasn’t a killer, but his roommate was. I couldn’t quit the idea that a serial killer would do something like display his kill where he could see it, and watch over the discovery of the victim. From what little research I had done on the original Torso Murders, the general consensus among law enforcement had been it had to be someone with a medical background of some sort, or perhaps a butcher. There had been obvious knowledge of how the human body was connected at the joints and how to sever that connection.

I don’t know what I thought I was going to see at Nick’s condo—it wasn’t like his roommate would have severed heads in the fridge—but I was nutso enough to nod my head and say, “Sure, I’d love to see your view.”

“Good.” Nick touched my shoulder briefly. “I don’t want you to have a negative association with that whole area. It’s normally a very cool part of town, and at night the river and the bridges are lit up.”

His touch didn’t make me recoil, so I decided that was a good sign that I could trust him. My gut was usually spot-on when it came to someone’s creep factor.

There were no body parts lying around the condo. It was decorated in a nod to industrial chic, with a lot of chunky wood and mixed metals filling the soaring space. It wasn’t big, it was just vertical, and there was nothing frilly or floral about it. There wasn’t even any colors to speak of, just black and gray and varying wood tones. I felt like I’d fallen into a hipster coffee shop or my dad’s wine cellar. Marner’s apartment had industrial elements as well, but it felt homey. This didn’t feel cozy at all—it felt staged. I should know.

But I shouldn’t be thinking about Marner when I was in another guy’s home. Not helpful at all.

Wandering around, I made a show of admiring various pieces and asking about them. Really, I was just being nosy. “Is this your roommate’s?” I asked, peering over a desk that had multiple anatomy textbooks spread around, along with three empty coffee mugs.

“Yes. He studies there while I’m at work.” Nick walked over to a closed door and knocked. “I’ll introduce you to him.” He smiled. “Prove I wasn’t lying to you about him being home.”

“Oh great.” I was both eager and terrified. If the roommate was the killer and Nick had told him that I was the one who found the body, would he be intrigued by me? Fixated on me? That was unnerving. But curiosity killed the cat, and possibly me. Put It Where was going to have to be renamed Put Her There when they lowered my coffin into the ground.

It was that thought racing through my head when the bedroom door swung open and a man with a scowl on his face growled, “What?”

“Hey, Sebastian.”

Now he had to be a killer. His name practically screamed mass murderer.

“Sorry to bother you, but I have a friend over and we’re going to be hanging out for a while. I just wanted to introduce you to her.”

Startlingly pale-blue eyes shifted beyond Nick to land on me. The scowl smoothed out. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Sorry to bother you if you’re studying. I’m Bailey.”

“I was just sleeping. Long day at the hospital.”

“We’re going out on the balcony,” I said, already dropping my voice to a whisper. “We won’t bother you.”

“You better not or I’ll kill you,” he deadpanned.

Oh, yeah. That was enough to set me on edge, even though logic told me that if he were a killer, he wouldn’t have said that. Yet he didn’t look like a guy who joked around a lot. I gave a nervous giggle because I had no better response.

“Wow, way to make her feel hugely uncomfortable.” Nick clapped Sebastian on the shoulder. Hard. “Go back to bed, douchebag.”

He gave a half-hearted wave and turned around, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Sorry about that. He’s not usually so antisocial.”

Interesting choice of words. “That’s okay. I get crazy when I haven’t slept enough.”

“Can I get you a beer or a glass or wine or anything?”

“I’ll take a beer.” I tended to sip that slower than wine. Vino could get me in trouble. I had chosen to wear a skirt with pockets, and because I was a tad nervous, I buried my hands in them so deep I pulled my waistband down an inch. I tried to relax, but when Nick went into the fridge I saw it was filled with tiny medical bottles and syringes. “Are you diabetic?” That was kind of none of my business, but it popped out before I could stop myself.

“Huh?” Nick glanced back at me. “Oh, the bottles? No. That’s something Sebastian has going on for school.”

What, chloroforming victims? Slipping drugs into drinks at nightclubs? I tried to catch a glimpse of the labels but I couldn’t see anything before Nick pulled out two beers and let the door drift closed.

“How long have you known Sebastian?”

“Six months. Why, are you thinking of throwing me over for him?”

Hoo boy. Insecurity had just reared its ugly head. Just because I asked how long he had known him didn’t mean I was hot for the guy. Red flag number one was just hoisted. “If I was, I guess that would make me an idiot,” I said wryly, not wanting to continue a discussion on this. “Or a complete genius, if I were a woman who wants a boyfriend who is never available.”

He looked sheepish and it was cute enough I was willing to forgive him. Getting to know someone wasn’t easy. It was hard to read someone you’d just met. “Some women like that whole doctor thing. It’s sexier than being an accountant.”

Nick got points for saying “women” instead of “girls.” Only my parents and grandmother were allowed to refer to me as a girl without it being annoying. “You know what I find sexy? Not worrying about the competition.”

Besides, if he was going to worry, it should be about Marner, not Sebastian the potential sociopath. I couldn’t get Jake out of my head tonight, and it was worrisome.

Nick used a bottle opener to pop the cap off my beer. Marner would have just twisted it off, whether it was a twist top or not. See? I was doing it again. I couldn’t stop. I had Marner’s Disease and it sucked.

He handed me the beer. “You know what I find sexy? You.”

I was semi-flattered, but mostly appalled, because I had no idea what to say to that other than “eww,” though I managed to contain that. I’d just realized once and for all I was not attracted to Nick. But because I have absolutely none of my mother’s chutzpah, I still went out onto the balcony with him. Or maybe it was because I did have some of Mom’s courage. I wanted to see the landscape from above, and this would be my only opportunity. I wanted to see what Nick had seen that night. See what maybe the killer had wanted people to see.

Nick hadn’t lied. “It is a beautiful view,” I said, resting my beer bottle on his bistro table and staying standing. I leaned on the railing and scanned the horizon. “I think you made a sound investment.”

“I hope so. This area seems to be up and down every twenty years or so. But you know, I’m sure eventually I’ll want to buy a big house with a yard and all that.”

Personally, I wasn’t sure I would ever want that. I’d grown up in a big house in the suburbs and I wanted something different. For now anyway. “Look at how huge that barge is,” I said, not really interested in hearing Nick Pitrello’s life plans. “I can’t believe it fits on the river.”

“Look at that little boat trying to move alongside it.” Nick pointed to what didn’t look like much more than a rowboat. “What is that guy doing? He’s going to get crushed.”

I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward. “Why doesn’t he have lights on? That’s just a flashlight or something. You’re right. That seems so stupid.”

Nick was intently focused on the river now too. He put the flashlight feature on his phone on and lifted it up. It was a paltry beam compared to the inky darkness of the river. The various lights from the bridges and the buildings competed with the weak beam. “Okay, that doesn’t work,” he said. “I’m taking a picture of this guy though. He’s going to get himself killed.” He took a shot and then zoomed in on his screen and showed it to me. The flash had gone off but it was still too far away to see with any clarity what was happening. “What is he doing?”

My gaze went back and forth from the grainy image on Nick’s phone to the boat in the distance. “He’s throwing things overboard,” I murmured. “It doesn’t look like bags of trash though…it’s loose.” I couldn’t think of another word to describe it.

“Oh my God,” Nick said, horror in his voice. “Bailey, look at this picture again. Doesn’t that look like a foot in his hand?”

It was so fuzzy when zoomed that it was hard to say, but it didn’t look like anything someone should be pitching into the river. It wasn’t anything explainable like a fishing rod, which I didn’t think anyone would be using at night on the river anyway. The hair on my arms stood straight up. I grabbed Nick’s hand holding his phone and pulled it up closer to my eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m looking at, but it’s super weird. What do we do?”

“Should we call the cops?” Nick looked as frantic as I felt.

This man was no mass murderer unless he was the world’s greatest actor. Like Tom Hanks, Leonardo DiCaprio and Morgan Freeman all in one.

“I don’t know. I mean, it could be nothing.”

“Or it could be something.” Nick pointed. “He’s throwing something else over.”

It was a large mass. This was so big that we actually heard the splash in the distance. Nick started recording the scene below us on his phone. “It’s just so dark,” he murmured. “I can’t tell what is going on.”

“It could be trash.”

“Wouldn’t he just use a dumpster like everyone else?”

We both fell silent as we intently studied what we were seeing. It was clear the man was hoisting yet a third object over the side of his tiny boat, right next to the giant barge dwarfing his vessel. It could be nothing shady at all. Or it could be a human body, cut into pieces, and being tossed into the river right before our eyes.

“I’m calling the cops,” Nick said. “If we’re wrong, we’re wrong.”

“Good plan,” I said, because I had a very sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that we’re weren’t wrong. It felt like he’d chosen to do this right next to the barge in the hopes that no one would see him. Or if they saw him, the mass of the barge would block out the details. I couldn’t say with any true sense of perspective what color the boat was or how big. It just looked insanely small next to the barge. The man looked…bulky. Nothing else. I couldn’t see features or even distinguish much because the boat was rocking and he was lifting what appeared to be heavy objects.

By the time the police arrived the barge and the man on the boat were both long gone, though Nick kept recording on his phone until they chugged out of view.

“So let me make sure I have this right,” Detective Smith said, standing in Nick’s living room. “You two, who told me you had never met each other before Miss Burke found body parts in the weeds, are out on a date tonight and you just so happen to see a man tossing what looked to you like body parts into the river?”

I nodded. It sounded ridiculous when she said it like that, but the truth was the truth.

Nick shoved his phone at her. “It may be nothing. But we thought you should see it at least.”

“You do realize that if we drag the river and find a body, it’s highly suspicious that both of you would be present on two different occasions when a body was found?”

“Why is that suspicious?” I protested, annoyed with Debby Smith’s attitude. “Nick lives here. This is a killer’s dumping ground. I don’t find it bizarre at all that he would have seen something twice. In fact, I bet if you poll the people who live in this building, they have seen weird things too.”

She eyed me. “We’ve been talking to the neighbors, don’t worry your cute little self over that. I know my job.”

I was starting to get the feeling that Detective Smith didn’t like me. “Why would we call you ourselves, twice I might add, if we were doing something illegal or were somehow involved?” I asked, feeling feisty. I didn’t like being subtly accused of having some ulterior motive when I was trying to help. I could have stayed out of all of this by never calling the police in the first place. But that would have been wrong, so I did, and now she was making me feel like a criminal.

“Relax, Bailey,” she said, taking Nick’s phone. “I never said I thought you were involved. You don’t exactly have the hallmarks of a serial killer.”

Why did her reassurance somehow sound hugely insulting? Like she didn’t think I was clever enough to be a serial killer. “I’m not involved,” I said and I hated that I sounded childish.

As she watched the video, turning up the volume, she asked, “Did you call Detective Marner?”

“No.” I felt like adding why would I do that when he isn’t on the case?, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Can you send this to me?” she asked Nick. “I’ll go down and check out the riverbank.” She went over to the balcony door and opened it, stepping out. “My partner should be here in a minute.” She gave a cursory glance down to the river then came back in and moved toward the front door. “Thanks for this.”

After saying her goodbyes she was gone. Nick frowned at me. “Well, she made it pretty clear she thinks we’re nuts.”

So he’d picked up on that very obvious vibe as well. “Maybe we are. But I can’t tell if she thinks we’re just paranoid, or if we’re somehow involved. She seemed to be implying that initially, wasn’t she?”

He nodded. “It sure seemed like it. But who knows? I can’t read her, which is probably exactly what she wants. I mean, detectives have to play their cards close to the vest in interrogations and stuff. Right?” He looked to me for confirmation.

“I guess. I’ve never been interrogated before.”

“But your ex-boyfriend is a detective.”

Hey now. “He’s my friend. And we don’t talk about his work.” We didn’t. We never had. Ryan had talked about his job, but he had always been flippant about it. Ryan glossed over genuine emotion with humor. It was his personal superpower, to never deal with anything emotionally difficult.

For a second, we just stared at each other, both uneasy. Then I said, “I should go. This kind of put a damper on the night.” It had. The detective had made me feel like somehow I was at fault for seeing what I had. Which was ludicrous, of course. She was doing her job, which wasn’t to spare my feelings.

Nick’s shoulders slumped but he gave me a wan smile. “It did, didn’t it? I’ll walk you back to your car.”

Politeness had me protesting. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

But he cut me off with a raised hand and a stern expression. “Don’t even try to argue. There is no way in hell I would let you walk even two blocks to your car alone at night after what we’ve seen. Twice.”

He had a point. “You’re right. I should be cautious.”

We walked without speaking, and while it wasn’t exactly awkward, it wasn’t a relaxing end to an evening. For a second, I thought Nick was going to try to kiss me at my car door, but he seemed to think better of it, which was a smart move. This was not the night for that. Actually, no night would be the right time for that, but this timing was definitely inappropriate.

“Text me when you’re home safe.”

“Sure. Thanks for a fun night, prior to…everything.”

Nick pulled me in for an awkward hug. “Take care, Bailey.”

I sensed he wasn’t going to ask me out again and I was perfectly okay with that.

When I got home, Ryan was sitting on my front porch. “I was trying not to spook you,” he said.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I did. I unlocked my house and led him in.

“Where were you?”

“A comedy show with Nick. Then later we were out on his balcony and thought we saw someone throwing body parts in the river.”

“That’s an exciting date.”

“Detective Smith thinks I’m a liar or crazy or both. Why won’t she take me seriously?”

“Don’t worry, no one in the department does.”

Tears popped into my eyes without warning.

“Hey, I’m just kidding.” Ryan looked horrified. “It was a joke.”

“I know. I’m just tired of pretending I don’t see dead people. It’s very hard to know things that no one knows I know and that I shouldn’t know.”

“Can you repeat that?”

“Never mind.” I kicked off my shoes in a heap then couldn’t stop myself from reaching down and setting each pump onto its heel. I didn’t want them to get damaged. “I’m going to bed.”

“Bai, do you mind if I stay here tonight?” Ryan wasn’t looking at me, but at his hand, like something about it was suddenly fascinating.

“I don’t mind,” I said quietly. “Actually, I’d like the company.” The loneliness I had felt earlier that evening was back full force. It was even more acute than it had been previously. I felt swept along that river filled with body parts, rushing where, I didn’t know. It was disconcerting.

“Cool.”

We didn’t say anything else, and when I got in bed, Ryan sat in the chair in the corner of my room, his feet on the ottoman. We watched TV in silent companionship until I drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t even dream about hands or feet or dead people.