It was clear Miles believed Jasper was dead, and his case against Ned was strong. The stories I’d been told by Abella and Miles about the previous day, from Flynn’s temper to the tryst in the shed, lined up.

That only generated more doubt. Ned and Bebe’s secret had the capacity to tear apart an already unstable family. It was the kind of thing a person might go to great lengths to bury. So who wielded the shovel? It wouldn’t go well for Ned if Flynn found out about the affair; one conversation with Jasper’s brother was all I needed to see that. But what about Bebe? She had just as much reason to panic, and plenty of excuses for why Jasper was gone. This woman who cheated with her brother’s partner while he worked nearby might be capable of anything.

I wasn’t ready to give up on Flynn either. According to Abella, he routinely abused Jasper. If he was angry about Jasper’s comparably successful efforts to save the family business, or even something as trivial as Jasper’s happy relationship, Flynn might snap. He was quick to pin Jasper’s disappearance on Abella. If he’d done the deed, framing her for murder would serve him well.

It was after four by the time Miles and Bebe left the library and I was finally able to gather my thoughts and check my phone. I’d started hoping McIntyre’s messages contained a bombshell revelation about Ned Yeboah, the ambitious bisexual New York YouTuber who needed Bebe so urgently he threw her over a sawhorse in a freezing-cold shed. To my surprise it was Carson’s name, not Maureen McIntyre’s, I saw on the screen.

There were times, especially lately, when Carson made me feel like a child under a parent’s watchful gaze. He’d say it was for my own good—and maybe it was—but it concerned me that he was reaching out in the middle of a case. He’d made his position clear. What good would it do to keep reminding me I might lose my shit? Couldn’t he at least give me a chance to prove him wrong?

Cut him some slack, Shay. Whenever Carson’s micromanaging annoyed me, I reminded myself what he’d done. Carson saved me. In a way, I owed him my life. Quelling my frustration, I scrolled through his messages.

Been thinking about Tim, his first text read. You’re right about the wedding. We shouldn’t invite him.

It’s a bad idea, Carson went on. It’s tradition for friends of the groom to drudge up old stories. Roast them or whatever.

We have history. Tim would love to embarrass me.

There’s some jealousy there.

He’s that type.

That’s where Carson ended it. I puzzled over the texts. Why the sudden change of heart? I couldn’t imagine Tim telling embarrassing stories about Carson. As far as I knew, Carson and Tim hadn’t hung out in years. Get up in front of a hundred people to roast a guy Tim hadn’t been close with for decades? No way.