“I know. But this afternoon, Jake told me he thinks he left his bag here.” Me telling my mother that isn’t the same thing as Jake telling the police in an official interview. “Which means Penn could easily have grabbed it thinking it was his at any time in the past month. Like I said, at the time, it all seemed to make sense. But now …” I shrug. “Penn’s really pissed at me, and he has every right to be. Still …”

She takes another drink. “Still what?”

“I need to know, Mom. People are out there accusing me of hiding a pregnancy and killing a baby. Demanding my arrest. I can’t answer my own phone. Reporters are following me down the street. I’m getting death threats on Twitter.”

“I told you not to look—”

“That’s a lot easier said than done. I’m wrapped up in this, and it feels like that’s not going to change until we figure out who that baby’s parents really are. Until I can show the world that it’s not me.”

My mother sets her glass down and captures my gaze from across the countertop. It’s a mom-gaze, not a cop-gaze. “Beckett, there will always be someone out there willing—even eager—to believe the worst of you. That’s true for all of us. Admittedly, what you’re getting is more baptism by fire than the gentle sprinkling of unfounded hatred most people will experience over the course of a lifetime. But the principle remains the same. You’re never going to be able to completely clear your name. Even if you had ironclad proof, someone would refuse to believe it. There are people out there who still don’t believe we ever landed on the moon, Beck. If you spend your life trying to prove yourself worthy of someone else’s respect, you’ll run yourself into an early grave.”

“I just don’t want some wack job to think the Clifford baby killer got off too easily and decide to take matters into his own hands. Chances are that those dogs are all bark and no bite. But it only takes one psycho to—”

“That’s fair,” my mom says. “And I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t something I’d thought of. But so far, none of the threats against you have proven credible.”

“You’ve looked into them?”

My mother blinks at me. “Of course I have. Every last one. I’ve already had nearly two dozen accounts suspended from Twitter for policy violation—threatening physical harm—and I’m reporting every single one of them to the FBI.”

“Holy shit.” I stare at her, stunned. “Why haven’t you told me any of that?”

“I assumed you knew. I’d do that for anyone in Clifford who was being threatened. That’s my job. And you’re not just anyone, Beck.”