“No,” Micah tells her. I give a quick nod good-bye. “Connor and Kristen weren’t even there when it happened. They were out hiking or something. If I know those two at all, they missed everything.”

I wait for my bus as the sounds of early evening dim the space around me. The air is cool and I shake a little. I need to get home. I stand among a dozen other people thinking the same thing, though for reasons I’m sure are absolutely different from mine. Be with the family. Feed the cat. Do something. I’m surely alone in what I need to figure out. I text Kristen that I got sick and left work for home. She doesn’t answer. That’s fine. I don’t know what more I can say except that I’m feeling sorry for something I don’t think I did. But I’m not certain.

God, please help me.

I promise never to ask again.

Never for myself anyway.

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY

LEE

Adam is in Reception, and I feel sick. Nerves, I think. If I told Montrose how I felt, he’d go to the sheriff and get me bounced off the case. I doubt I could argue my way back in, either. I glance at the plum tree outside my window. It reminds me of the branches that covered me when Adam found me.

“Ready?” Montrose says as he swings by, notepad and coffee cup in hand.

“Yep,” I say, although I’m not really sure I am.

“You sure you can do this, Lee?”

“Don’t ask again,” I say. “I would tell you if I had any doubts, Montrose. You have to know that by now.”

“I’m not a fan of your old buddy, you know,” he says. “And I like Coyle for this. But this will be fun anyway. And something we need to do.”

He offers a smile and quick nod. Montrose goes to the interview room, and I make my way to Reception.

Adam brightens and gets up when he sees me. He’s wearing two-hundred-dollar jeans and a crisp button-down shirt. I can’t tell if it is white or the palest shade of blue.

“Hey, Lee,” he says, putting down a copy of the Shelton-Mason County Journal.

“Old home week,” I say, studying the front page.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just seeing if I recognize any names.”

He follows me.

“Did you?” I ask, glancing back.

He shakes his head. “Not really. Maybe a couple. Shelton’s not the same as it was.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised how little it’s really changed,” I say.

Our chitchat relaxes me. It appears to relax Adam too. That’s good. His face falls a little when he sees Montrose.

“Hey, Adam,” Montrose says.

“Detective.” He looks over at me. “I thought I was just going to be talking to you.”