“Good morning, Sonny Boy,” he says, pushing his glasses up from where they rested at the tip of his nose. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” Which isn’t a lie. If I had any nightmares, they hadn’t stuck with me. And according to Lassie, I hadn’t attacked him once throughout the night.

“I put another round of Neosporin on your scratches when I got back from dropping Ingrid at the airport.”

No wonder the scratches had healed so quickly.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t want you to scar.”

I smile, then ask, “What are you doing? You have a big final exam that you haven’t told me about?”

“Oh, this,” he says, spreading his hands over the table and laughing. “This is a cold case Ingrid is working. She told me about it during the drive, and I asked her if I could take a look at it while she was gone.”

I nod.

My father’s next hobby.

Cold Case Detective.

“Well, make sure you keep everything in order. You have a tendency to, well, not do that.”

The previous day’s search of the basement comes rushing back.

The boxes.

Gone.

I’m tempted to ask my dad about them, but he interjects before I have a chance. “Isabel dropped off some amazing lasagna,” he says, beckoning to the refrigerator. “Then come sit down for a few minutes. I want to tell you about this.”

I haven’t seen my dad this excited since he helped me elude the two guys chasing me.

I open the refrigerator and grab a huge slice of lasagna and throw it in the microwave.

While it’s heating, I text Isabel “thank you” and ask her if she did the other thing I asked.

She texts back immediately that she did.

Next, I read five texts from Ingrid. She arrived in Atlanta. Her mom is still in critical condition. Her dad is a mess. It is way too humid down there. She loves me.

I text back that I love her and to keep me updated.

Lassie and Murdock, perhaps awakened by the smell of the lasagna, enter the fray, and I pull out another piece, grab two plates, and divide the lasagna as I see fit.

Lassie looks down at his portion and cuts his eyes at me.

Meow.

“Why is your piece smaller? Well, maybe because you are a little squirrel and Murdock is gigantic.”

Meow.

“But you are a little squirrel. In fact, you’re smaller than most squirrels.”

Meow.

“Yes, my scratches are just starting to heal. What are you getting at?”

Meow.

“You wouldn’t.”

Meow.

“Pinky promise?”

I touch my pinky to his paw, then tear a chunk of lasagna off my plate and give it to him.

“If I wake up with even one little scratch on me, I’m going to feed you to Mayweather.” Mayweather is a big raccoon that likes to pick on Lassie.

Meow.

“Try me.”