“You’re a bad influence on him,” Lucy said.

Sean leaned over and kissed her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a car pull into the driveway.

It was Max.

Sean turned off the water and poured Lucy a glass of wine. “She learned something from Grover Mills and wanted to talk in person.”

“I’ll disappear.”

Sean didn’t say anything, but by his expression she knew she wasn’t going to like this. “You mean she wants to talk to me.”

“I don’t know what specifically, but give her ten minutes. She’s good, Luce. She wouldn’t come here with a theory if she didn’t think it was important.”

“What happened to you giving me a heads-up?”

“She just texted me a few minutes ago.”

Lucy had a feeling that Sean and Max had conspired to bring her into their investigation. That probably wasn’t fair, but after the shooting today Sean had become fully invested in this case. He was angry and motivated to find out who was behind this … conspiracy. Because there was no better word for it.

Lucy had her own complicated case and she couldn’t get Ricky Albright out of her head. She kept picturing him as he looked when he was nine, a dimpled little boy with big brown eyes and freckles dotting his nose.

“Hey,” Sean said, and kissed her. “You okay?”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll listen. Ten minutes.”

Sean went to let Max in and Lucy sipped her wine. What she really wanted was a giant bowl of chocolate–chocolate chip ice cream. Instead, she followed Sean down the hall.

“Thank you, Lucy,” Max said. “You’ll definitely be interested in my theory.”

“I’m still not getting involved in an SAPD investigation,” Lucy said. With Max, she had to be clear from the beginning what she wouldn’t do, or Max would see an in and try to exploit it. Lucy liked her on many levels—she’d read her true crime books, she admired her insight and ability to uncover the seemingly impossible truth, and her determination to find the truth—but the same determination made her difficult to work with, and she used intense pressure to get her way.

“I understand,” Max said. To Sean, she asked, “Do you have a whiteboard?”

“In my office,” he said.

“Can we use it? This will make more sense visually.”

Sean led the way down to his office. He opened a cabinet that concealed an eight-foot-wide whiteboard. He handed Max a set of colored markers, then sat down on the couch. “Luce,” he said, motioning for her to join him.

She did, though she was so tired she feared she wouldn’t get up.

Max wrote on the board. On the far left she listed several names:

VICTORIA MILLS

SIMON MILLS

STANLEY GRANT

MITCH CORTA

HARRISON MONROE

DENISE ALBRIGHT

“Stop,” Lucy said. “I’m not talking to you about my case.”