I knew better, I really did, but I got out my own cell phone and speed-dialed Tucker.

“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice, and she sounded as if she’d been crying. Allison Darroch. “Hello?” she repeated. “Who is this?”

I hung up without answering.

Because I didn’t know what to say.

Because I couldn’t have spoken if I had.

* * *

“PITY YOU CAN’T stay longer,” Joseph said, with merciless good humor, half an hour later, as he jingled my car keys under my nose. I’d packed my trash bag, after Uncle Clive came back to the patio long enough to tell me he’d been called into the Phoenix office on an emergency, scribbled a thank-you note on a piece of paper from the desk in the living room of the guest house and asked the maid to give it to Mrs. Larimer.

“If you’re the senator’s assistant and bodyguard,” I challenged, “how come you didn’t leave with him?”

“I have things to do here,” he replied.

“Sucks to be you,” I said. I got into the Volvo, fired up the engine and got out of there.

I hoped I’d never have to go back.

I hoped Tucker wasn’t dead.

Oh, God, how I hoped Tucker wasn’t dead.

I wanted to go straight back to Cave Creek and try to find out for sure, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea, and for once, I listened to my own advice.

It was too early to head for Jolie’s. She’d be at work, and totally focused on whatever bone or tissue sample she was decoding. If I showed up, I’d either blow her concentration, which she would not appreciate, or be ignored, which I would not appreciate.

I set out for the cemetery outside of town, planning to grill Boomer about the murders, since he seemed to be an authority on the subject, but my car went into override again.

I soon found myself sitting, with the Volvo idling, in front of the house Lillian had lived in, back in the day.

I hadn’t remembered the address. I’d simply driven to it on autopilot.

We’d lived across the street, Mom, Dad, Geoff and I. Just to look in that direction was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a vacant lot with a weathered For Sale sign sticking up from the dry, yellow weeds.

In my mind’s eye, I saw a double-wide mobile home.

I saw blood-spattered walls.

I saw the little vent holes inside the dryer.

I shuddered violently, and for a moment, I actually thought I’d have to shove open the car door and throw up in the gutter.

I drew deep breaths until the images receded, then popped the Volvo into gear and sped away.