I hesitate for a moment, then step inside. I only go far enough he can shut the door behind me. Two vases of flowers sit on a table in the entryway. An archway off to the side leads to what I guess is a living room. I only get a glimpse from here of a table with more flowers by the window. A woman waits beside it, hands folded in front of her. The blonde’s probably in her forties, a kindness to her face but something commanding underneath.

Remi said her mom’s an addict, but nothing tells me one way or another with this woman. Not that appearances always matter in that regard. If the chief of police’s wife is using, it makes sense she’d hide it well.

The door shuts behind me, and her stepdad slips around me. “Give me just a second.” He approaches the woman, touching her elbow as if to turn her. Whatever he says makes her eyes flash to me, and then she nods before the two of them walk farther into the house, out of sight.

Blowing out a breath, my head falls forward for a second. Fuck. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here. Actually, in need of the distraction, I decide to check Chase’s messages. And I instantly regret it.

Happy dude-bro day, my dude-bro.

We have a busy agenda. Then we’re re-releasing your dick into the wild tonight.

Fuck that chick. She’s hot but not worth the trouble.

I bet she’s completely different in person. We’ll find you better in a heartbeat.

The opposite of helpful. I shove my phone away without finishing them and pace the space. I scrape a hand through my hair and grab the back of my neck, turning around. On a sigh, my arm drops to my side, and I glance down at the table with the vases. A roar fills my ears, the floor dropping out from under my feet. My eyes jerk from the paper program to the flowers. Both have white cards tucked in plastic holders.

I go back toward the door and step into the archway to the living room. Other than the flowers by the window, I notice more on the end tables. Arrangements line the mantel of the fireplace. They cover the stone hearth.

With a rough swallow, I stride to the entry table and snatch up the program. The woman on the front has golden hair and a too-soft smile—Rebecca Kane is printed beneath her picture along with a birthdate. And her death date.

What the fuck?