I didn’t know I was headed for Cactus Bend until I took the exit, after an hour and a half on autopilot. A glance at the dashboard clock told me it was after 10:00 p.m. That jolted me, because up until then, I couldn’t have said whether it was night or day.

The big gates were shut tight at Casa Larimer.

I leaned on the horn.

Lights came on in the big house.

I honked again.

A figure sprinted down the sloping driveway, and I recognized Joseph.

He looked annoyed, when I caught a flash of his face in the headlights, but he opened the gates. I rolled down the window.

“I need to see the senator,” I said. I don’t know exactly what I intended to do at that point. Turn myself in, maybe. Or just ask for advice.

Joseph’s annoyance gave way to concern. “My God, Mojo—what’s the matter with you? You look—”

“I want to see my uncle.”

“He’s not here,” Joseph said quietly. He opened the car door. “Move over,” he said. “I’m driving.”

I was clearly not myself. If I had been, I would have told him he wasn’t doing anything of the kind. Instead, I moved to release my seat belt, discovered I’d never fastened it in the first place and scrambled inelegantly over the console into the passenger seat. It was only then that I realized I was still wearing my nightshirt and bathrobe. I was barefoot, too—I must have walked over the gravel in the parking lot at Bert’s without even feeling it. Not good, since there were usually broken beer bottles mixed in with the tiny, sharp rocks.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked. I could have had a career playing the dumb victim in B horror movies.

“I should take you to the nearest hospital,” Joseph said. “What the hell are you on, anyway?”

“I’m not ‘on’ anything,” I protested.

“You couldn’t prove it by me, lady.” Joseph shoved the Volvo back in gear and streaked up the driveway and around to the guesthouse, behind the manor.

“I’ll scream if you touch me,” I warned.

“Go ahead and scream,” Joseph said. “The senator’s away and Mrs. Larimer is upstairs, blitzed out on pills.”

He stopped the car, shut off the engine, got out and stalked around to my side. Pulled open my door.

I tried to hold on to the seat, but he grabbed me by the knees and cranked me around sideways. I was just about to make good on my decision to let out a real howler when he crouched and took hold of one of my ankles.

“Your feet are bleeding,” he said. “What the—?”

I started to cry.

“I killed my parents,” I said.