“Oh” is all I can say, slightly abashed. The answer was so simple. Did I really want to see the worst in Suzanne? With Reama and Suzanne cleared, it’s looking more and more likely that one of Natalie’s friends—or family—did this. I zero in on the mayor’s image on the board. Could a parent really kill their own child? It depends. Why were they screaming at each other before the game? I remember the mayor in the stands, cool as a cucumber. Cold, even.

“Let’s go,” I say to Ben. The school is calling me. I feel its gravitational pull in my gut. I need to be where it happened. Maybe mystery-solving skills are genetic, and Maura’s legacy is pushing me in the right direction.

“We’re going for a walk,” I say. Ben blows air from his lungs, hauling himself up. I’ve worn him down. Good.

“Today a walk with Benjamin, last night a car ride with Gabriel.” Maura winks at me before turning to Ben. “Better bring your A game, Benjamin. She’s a keeper, but she’s popular. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, eh?”

“Bet you were the most popular girl in school in your day, Maura,” Ben says, sweet-talking my grandma, of all things.

“I broke some hearts.” Her smile is sly. Both of them seemed to have skipped right over the part where she hinted I’m hooking up with Gabriel and Ben. For his part, Ben’s either unbothered or has an incredible poker face.

“Have a good walk, you two,” Maura says, settling down behind her lovingly scuffed MacBook.

Soon our feet slosh through soggy, decaying leaves on the drive. The day is gray and foreboding, a misting rain coating us almost immediately. I pull tighter into my paltry SoCal excuse for a jacket, too stubborn to admit I’m underdressed. We hang a right past the driveway, walking down the middle of the road. Maura’s street doesn’t have sidewalks.

“Gabriel drove you home last night?”

I wince. And there it is.

“Yeah. He was at the Rinaldis’, working a wedding. The timing worked out.”

“And he gave you the thumb drive with the video footage yesterday.”

It’s pointed, how Ben says it—petulance mixed with wariness.

“Are you jealous?” I half tease. Half hope. God, that’s regressive, but I love the pang of desire I feel at the idea of being wanted badly enough to inspire jealousy.

“No,” Ben says quickly. Too quickly. His glasses have fogged over, but he doesn’t move to clean them.

“A little,” he concedes. “But it’s not only that. Gabriel’s been showing up a lot for you lately to be helpful. I know you don’t read Maura’s books, but there’s one about this phenomenon: sometimes the killer inserts himself into the investigation.”

“It’s not like I’m a cop.”