The video starts, and instead of the footage I expect to see of myself running down the sidewalk, ignoring the reporter and her cameraman, the clip begins in To Dye For, with me shouting expletives at a room full of stylists and customers.

“Great.” I stop the clip and hand Penn back his phone. I can’t watch anymore. “How am I supposed to convince the world that I’m not evil when I’m online cursing at a bunch of senior citizens? Believe it or not, that horrible old lady started it.”

Penn shrugs. “I believe you. And I thought you were kind of awesome.”

Somehow, I don’t think Jake’s parents will agree. Even if they no longer believe I’m Lullaby Doe’s mother.

He stands. “I can pick Landry up, if you’ll drop her off this morning.”

“You’re not working?”

Penn cleans out kennels at the animal shelter in Daley three afternoons a week, for minimum wage.

“Nah. Mr. Mattson said maybe I should stop coming in until all this dies down.”

“Why? What happened?”

He shrugs. “That salon wasn’t WBBJ’s only stop yesterday.”

“Crap. I’m sorry.”

“It’s only temporary,” he insists.

But he can’t possibly be sure of that. Mr. Mattson will have to replace him and there may not be any job for Penn to go back to, by the time all this blows over. But I decide to look on the bright side. For once.

“Maybe that’ll be sooner than we think. Mom said the coroner’s report came in last night. Lullaby Doe was stillborn. Which means no crime was committed. Surely once everyone knows that, this’ll all just go away.”

“I hope so.” Penn’s jaw clenches. “If I’m associated with this, I’ll never get into West Point. The admissions board scours social media for anything that might reflect poorly on the army or the academy.”

“I know. Jake’s parents are worried about his scholarship potential for the same reason.”

I’m glad I have nearly another year before I have to worry about that. Not that I’ll be applying to West Point or expecting athletic scholarships …

The truth is that I have no idea what I want to do after high school. But every day that someone online calls me a baby killer and threatens to shoot me in the street, my options seem fewer and fewer.

“Speaking of West Point, how did the CFA go? Did you pass?”

His smile lights up the whole planet. “I kinda killed it. Not that it matters. All the top candidates will have strong CFA scores.”

“I’m not worried,” I assure him. “You’ll stand out.” And with any luck, that will have nothing to do with Lullaby Doe.