Greer turned, without a word, and trudged slowly toward the house. Jolie got into the Pathfinder, fired up the engine and waited, her face set.

“Did you see the way Alex grabbed Greer’s arm?” I asked, when I was buckled in on the passenger side. “Jolie, do you think…?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Jolie said. “About either of you.”

That was pretty much the extent of our conversation. She took me to Tucker’s place, and came in with me while I gathered up my stuff.

“Hey,” she said, looking around, “where’s the dog?”

I bit my lower lip. “Some relative of Bert’s claimed him,” I answered. I didn’t like lying to her, but I couldn’t put Bert and Sheila at risk by telling her what I knew, either. Jolie wasn’t a gossip, but people can’t accidentally reveal things they don’t know.

“You really liked him, though,” Jolie murmured sympathetically.

“I really liked him,” I agreed.

“If you won’t go to Greer’s with me, then I’ll come and stay at your place.” She shuddered. “Spooky hotbed of crime that it is.”

I shook my head, went into the kitchen. “I meant it when I said I needed some alone-time,” I told her. There was a dry-erase board hanging on the front of the fridge, and I smiled a little at the lone notation scrawled across the top. Daisy’s dance recital, Friday, 7:00.

Uncorking the marker dangling from the board by a string, I added, Gone home. Thanks for everything. Mojo.

“You’re nuts not to stay here,” Jolie said. “Tucker’s a cop. He can protect you.”

“He’s not around,” I retorted, “and I can protect myself.”

“Oh, right. Says what Damn Fool’s Guide?”

I backtracked to the front door, picked up my garbage-bag weekender and stepped outside. Jolie had no choice but to follow, and she stood glowering while I locked up.

“You won’t change your mind?” she urged, sounding as anxious as she looked.

“I won’t change my mind,” I confirmed.

We parted on the street; she got into her Pathfinder, and I got into my Volvo.

I stopped for groceries, since I planned on holing up for a while, but within an hour of leaving Tucker’s, I pulled into the lot at Bert’s and sat there, looking at my inheritance. Rusted-out beer signs adorned the weathered wood walls, and the air conditioner perched on the roof looked like it might fall straight through my place and land on one of the pool tables in the bar.

I got out of the car, gathered my groceries and tramped up the outside stairs.

“Nick?” I called, as I entered.

My voice echoed back to me, hollow-sounding.