“No point.” Archie was still studying the image. It was the same with every picture of Gretchen—he had trouble tearing his eyes away. But there was something about her expression in this one—the way she was looking at the camera—that made him feel like she was looking right at him, into him. He reached for it, his throat dry. “Can I keep this?” he asked.

“Knock yourself out,” Sanchez said.

Archie pulled the photo toward him and stood up. The pills rattled in his pocket. The plastic bottle knocked against the brass pillbox.

Sanchez stood up as well, and the two walked around the table and met at the door. “You need to figure out who your friends are,” Sanchez said.

“You have no idea,” Archie said.

Gretchen had been Archie’s friend. Until she had drugged him, strapped him to a gurney, and started cutting him into small pieces. This was one of the things Gretchen had taught him—his instincts, always so reliable when it came to crime, could fail him when it came to people. It was why Archie had so few people in his life—he was never sure when someone was going to slip him a paralytic and start torturing him—and that sort of uncertainty tended to put a strain on relationships.

Sanchez leaned close to Archie. It was an intimate gesture, as if he were about to share a confidence, even though they were the only people in the room. Archie could smell the peppermint on his breath. “Take care of yourself,” Sanchez said.

The caution implied danger. But what was Archie supposed to be in danger from? Gretchen? Jack Reynolds? The pills in his pocket? And were Sanchez’s words a warning, or a threat?

“I always take care of myself,” Archie said.

The statement was such an obvious lie that it made both men grin.

Chapter 22

CHAPTER

22

Archie drove Susan home. The roses Cooper had brought were still on the porch, limp and wilted. Her mother had probably walked right by them. Susan stooped to pick them up, noticed that Archie was waiting for her to get inside before he drove away, gave him a wave, and opened the front door. She was greeted by the smell of warm caramel and the sound of Jefferson Starship blasting on the turntable. She found her mother in the kitchen. Bliss’s platinum dreadlocks were separated into two long braids and she was wearing a T-shirt with an image of a marijuana leaf on it and the word LEGALIZE, along with red and orange tie-dyed yoga pants. There was a pot of melted caramel on the stove and several dozen blushing green apples sitting on the counter.

Clearly, her mother had not been exactly panic-stricken about Susan’s disappearance. “Seriously?” Susan said. She stalked to the sink and began stuffing the roses in the compost bin.

“I’m making caramel apples for Halloween,” Bliss explained.