“Because when he died, Quentin Garrison was carrying a 1976 ticket stub from the Corsica in his wallet. And I have a feeling it had something to do with the podcast he was making.”

Nicola moved over to Robin’s parents’ bed and sat on the edge of it. She motioned for Robin to sit down next to her, but Robin didn’t move. This was all stall tactics, probably an interrogation technique Nicola had learned as a cop, and Robin wasn’t buying it. “I want to know about my mother,” she said quietly. “I want to know about her past.”

Nicola exhaled. “She met your father at a coffee shop in Tucson. She was nineteen and waiting tables. He was finishing up a residency at the University of Arizona . . .”

“I know how my parents met,” she said. “Before that.”

“We were in foster care together.”

“What was she doing in 1976?”

Nicola smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Going to the movies?”

Robin took a step closer. “Look,” she said. “I heard Quentin Garrison’s confession. He says he shot my parents when an argument between them got out of hand, and fine. It sounds a little over the top, but I can believe that. But I don’t believe that argument had anything to do with my dad. I believe it had something to do with my mom, and this movie theater and 1976 and April Cooper.”

“You do, huh?”

“And I believe you know the truth.” She leveled her eyes at her. “CoCo. You know her better than any living person.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I’m going in late today.”

“They let you do that?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Nicola exhaled. “She loves you. I know that much. I also know that as many times as she’s been over at your house, she’s never gone through your personal things.”

“Because she’s never needed to.”

“Neither have you.” Nicola’s cheeks flushed. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, took a breath. “Look, Robin. You know I used to be a cop. These days, I do a little private investigating work. And from time to time, I’ve helped out your mom.”

“You have?”

“Yes,” she said. “And last year, she was very concerned about you.”

“What? Why?”

“It was your husband. He was working a lot of late nights. Your friend Eileen mentioned to her that she’d seen him at Chez Chas with a woman . . .”

“Eileen said that to my mom?”

“She was worried. She said she’d mentioned it to you, but you didn’t seem to believe her.”

“Jesus.”

“Your mom asked me to look into it, and . . . Well I don’t know how else to put it, Robin. Your husband is a real schmuck.”

Robin swallowed. Her cheeks felt hot. “I know about it. He told me.”

“And you’re staying with him?”

She didn’t answer.