I saw that she already had two mugs of coffee and—oh, my—a plate of scones, so I bypassed the front counter and slid into the booth.

Tabitha’s bright blue eyes gave me a long look. “Drink. And eat. I want to see half that coffee gone and two, no, three, bites of pastry into your stomach before you say a single word.”

“But—”

She held up a hand. “Now it’s four bites.”

I almost said, Yes, ma’am, but caught the words back just in time. So I ate, and I drank, and I ate a little more.

Tabitha, who’d been holding up her hand, counting on her fingers how much I’d eaten, called it. “Four. Now you can talk. I know the bare bones, Hal told me that much, but it was a dry detective’s report. What I really want to know is, are you okay?”

I looked into my mug, inspecting the contents for answers. They weren’t there, so I drank the rest of the coffee. “Sort of,” I finally said. “Keith was the one who had the gun aimed at him for so long, not me, but . . .” And, sadly, there were no answers hiding in the bottom of the mug, either.

“Wait here.” Tabitha bounced to her feet and took both our mugs to the counter for refills, adding extra cream to mine.

When she returned, I was ready to talk. “I’m not okay, but I will be. It’ll take time, that’s all.”

Tabitha nodded. “There are going to be days you go forward two steps, and nights you go back three. But you’re going to be patient with yourself. You might talk, or not talk, be angry, or not, be sad or not sad. Everyone responds differently to traumatic events. Just don’t forget that you have lots of support.”

“Um, thanks.” I buried my face in my mug for a moment, because I was afraid I might start crying right there in public. Tabitha would have understood, but my reluctance to make a spectacle of myself was stronger than my urge to cry, so I sipped too-hot coffee, burning my tongue and the roof of my mouth, until the feeling subsided.

And then I did talk. I told her about finding out from Kelsey that her former teacher, Keith, had worked at the city years ago, how I’d felt the need to warn him straightaway, how I’d found his house, how we’d sat in the backyard, how Keith had understood the motive for murder right off the bat, and how we’d been completely unaware of any danger until the water bottle exploded in my hand.