Bo had known Helen Lewis for almost thirty years. It was hard to think of her as a young law student flirting at the bar with a man. And parts of the story were still missing. How had Butch reacted after being told about the abortion? Was he upset? Did he cancel the wedding? Obviously, they were eventually married, but how did the abortion affect their relationship? And why was Helen so sure the baby she had aborted was the rapist’s? Couldn’t Butch have actually been the father?

Since Helen was being charged with her ex-husband’s murder, the entire history was important. He banged his steering wheel, frustrated that he didn’t have the full picture.

And she still hasn’t told me what happened the night of the murder. Her disclosure about going to the house and not stealing anything was a start, but it provided more questions than answers. The glaring one being obvious.

Why did Helen go to Butch’s house the night he was killed?

When Bo parked in front of his office, he was so distracted that he barely noticed that the front door was wide open and a long orange extension cord was running from a plug on the side of the building into the office. What the hell is going on? he thought, hopping out of the Sequoia and walking toward the door. Now that he was closer, he could hear the dual sounds of a vacuum cleaner and a very agitated English bulldog.

Before he reached the opening, Lee Roy ran toward him and jumped onto his chest. The dog was foaming at the mouth, and Bo caught a nice gob of slobber as he set the animal’s paws back on the ground. “Easy, boy,” he said as he entered the office. When he did, his forehead collided with something blunt and heavy, and Bo yelled in pain.

The sound of the vacuum cleaner evaporated, and when Bo focused his eyes, he saw a woman holding the handle of the machine with an impatient look blazed on her sweat-streaked face. “You could really use some air-conditioning in this place,” she said.

“What did you just hit me with?” Bo asked, rubbing his forehead.

“Nothing. You walked straight into the back of my vacuum cleaner handle.” She smirked at him. “You should watch where you’re going.”

He squinted at the woman, whose head was covered with a red bandana. She wore gray athletic shorts, a black tank top, and solid white tennis shoes. Then he peered over her and noticed that the cobwebs that had littered the office were gone. The stale, dusty smell had been replaced by a lemon freshener. There was a pail of water with a mop stuck in it leaning against the couch, and the rug in the lobby appeared smooth from vacuuming. “What—?”