“Yes. But I’m not supposed to talk about it, because the police are still investigating.”

Someone heaves a skeptical huff from down the single aisle of salon chairs, but I can’t tell who it was.

Mindy shakes her head, green ringlets bobbing. “So sad, about that poor baby. And its mother,” she adds. “Whoever she is, I don’t believe she would have left the poor thing there all alone if she had any other choice. My thoughts are with her.”

They’re kind words, but they sting upon impact, for the simple fact that they were aimed at me. Turns out that as supportive as she is, Mindy does believe some of the bullshit she’s been reading about me.

“Yes. It’s sad,” Amira agrees, when I can’t seem to find words. “And if we can’t raise eight thousand dollars, the county is going to cremate Lullaby Doe and bury her in an unmarked grave in the paupers’ lot.”

“Well, that’s just wrong.” Mindy frowns. “Poor baby ought to at least have a headstone.”

“Exactly. We’re really trying to rally the community. So, do you think the salon would be willing to donate?” Amira pulls another flyer from her backpack and sets it on the counter in front of Mindy.

“Well, that’s up to Renee.” Mindy turns to the bleached-blond owner of the salon, who’s staring hard at Karen’s freshly dyed roots. “Renee! These girls have come to ask for a donation.”

“What for?” Renee darts a quick glance at me before she turns back to her customer.

Coward.

“We’re here representing the Key Club.” Amira holds up one of her flyers for the entire room to see. “To give Lullaby Doe a proper burial. You can donate as an individual, or on behalf of any business you own. I’ll leave some flyers here on the counter. They have instructions for how to go online and—”

“The nerve,” someone mumbles, and even at a whisper, the words slice right through Amira’s prepared pitch.

“Dana …,” someone else scolds.

The gray-haired woman in the chair next to Karen shrugs. “I’m sorry, but we were all thinking it. Most online fundraisers are scams, and this one’s exploiting a dead child and preying on the generous hearts of the people of Clifford.”

By the girl who may or may not have killed the child in question. She doesn’t have to say that part out loud for everyone to hear it.

“It’s not a scam,” I say through clenched teeth. “It’s a GoFundMe. There are guarantees in place to make sure the money goes where we say it will.”

“And we’re just supposed to take your word for that?” Dana waves her stylist back and spins in her chair to face me.

“Dana …” Renee drops her dye brush into the bowl on her tray.