That day, he’d left Festus at home since he’d been in various meetings and, in between, he’d scoured the regular web for any trace of Freddie’s interactions with Tiffany Ulbridge.

He’d come up dry, which was frustrating, but he knew there had to be something, some thread of connection. Freddie had navigated the dark web like a pro, but there had been no indication that Tiffany had.

Obviously, Freddie had used a false name, just as he’d used Eli’s pictures in several different profiles. He’d followed up on the alternate identities and, again, found nothing.

The state was satisfied that Freddie had been Tiffany’s killer, and they were ready to sign off and let the whole incident fade away into history.

From Eli’s point of view, they were probably right.

Probably.

Freddie had clearly catfished Tiffany, baited her, possibly for months, and when she’d spurned him, he’d murdered her out of frustration and rage. He wouldn’t be the first loser with an if-I-can’t-have-you-nobody-can mindset and, sadly, he wouldn’t be the last.

Screwed up as that motive was, it made sense, coming from a lowlife like Freddie.

And yet——

It was too easy. If Lansing had developed feelings for Tiffany through their virtual “dates”—virtual dating being a concept Eli found utterly foreign—he would have been hurt by her rejection, but killing her?

Every hour of every day, people of all kinds loved and lost. They betrayed, or were betrayed. But was it really that easy, when you loved someone, to shut everything down?

Sure it was, for some people.

But had Freddie been one of those people?

Granted, he’d certainly been no saint, and he’d sported one of the worst attitudes Eli had ever come across, but up until a couple of years ago, he’d been a non-entity, for the most part, like his mother.

Then again, Freddie had planned on doing real harm to Eric, and others. That meant he’d been capable of violence.

It had certainly seemed that way when Eli visited the Lansings on New Year’s Eve.

No closer to an answer than before, Eli drove home through the thickening darkness, feeling the chill in the air even though he had the truck’s heater going full blast.

He missed Brynne.

He missed his dog.

He wanted to be inside his house, with a fire going and something savory warming up in the microwave.

For all those reasons, he was distracted.

He parked the truck in the garage, whistled for Festus, who usually greeted him in the backyard, barking for joy.

Eli frowned, listening. The dog was barking—frantically—but the sound was muffled. Then he heard the thumping, realized that Festus was hurling his agile little body against the back door, or maybe even the wall.

What was up with that?