He chewed, swallowed, pushed his glasses up on his nose. In this light, I could see his hair was beginning to thin. Before I knew it, Dad would be old and would still be alone. Why? Why, when his wife betrayed him, did he stay loyal to her, even after death?

Because he’s guilty, Nikki, and he knows it.

I pushed the thought away.

“Mom was more of a director. She was good at telling people what to do.”

Except for Bill Hollis. Nobody told Bill Hollis what to do. But Dad knew that already. He just didn’t want me to know that he knew.

There was a long pause while we finished our sandwiches. I didn’t have a choice but to wash mine down with the coffee, which had gotten cold. Marisol was right; it was gross without cream and sugar. I peeked over at her. She had her sandwich open and spread out on one thigh and was picking through its contents with her long nails. At her feet was a small pile of refused food.

That would have been what Peyton would have captured on film, I thought. Dirty, discarded food, next to a shiny stiletto heel. A perfect commentary about this town, this life.

“Dad?” I asked.

“Hmm?” He was poking around on his phone.

“Why did you give up?”

He glanced at me. “Give up on what?”

“On Mom. Why did you stop trying to find her killer?”

He opened his mouth, stopped, let his phone rest on his lap. “Why are you asking this, Nikki?”

“Because I’ve been almost killed twice in the past year. And it just seems really odd to me that Mom was killed, too. Like, what are the odds that two people from the same family are murdered? It’s almost like . . . like she had to know who it was. Like someone has a grudge against us.”

Dad’s face clouded over and he concentrated on tightening the laces of one shoe. I couldn’t tell if that was because he knew I was on to something about Mom, or if it was because he hated talking about what had happened to her, and what had almost happened to me. Maybe it was a little of both.

He straightened, softened, and pushed my hair behind my ear. “I didn’t give up. I just knew when it was hopeless. I couldn’t make the police find her killer. As much as I would have liked to.”

“But weren’t there any suspects?”

“No.”

“None at all? I find that really hard to believe, Dad.”

I saw his jaw stiffen. “The police weren’t motivated, I guess.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said. His head whipped up.

“Nikki, you know I don’t like that kind of lang—”