Doing good felt . . . good. He desperately hoped that it actually helped someone.

“It did go well. I was very proud of you, son.” But his mother wasn’t looking at him, her gaze instead riveted on the front window, outside of which the FBI agent was now driving away after making sure that the house was secure.

Jeff sighed. So far the FBI didn’t believe that the man who’d killed Miss Romero had seen him, but they couldn’t guarantee it. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She whipped around to frown at him. “This is not your fault, Jeff. The article, yes. But you’re making that as right as you can. This? Witnessing a murder? This is not your fault.”

“I know that. I do. But I hate that you’re afraid.”

Her expression softened. “I hate that you’re involved, but here we are. How about something to eat? You want a sandwich?” She stood, covering her mouth to hide her yawn. “Then I’m going to take a nap.”

Jeff knew he should have been tired, but he really was buzzed. “Thanks, Mom. A sandwich sounds perfect. You want me to make them?”

She waved him off. “I’m already up and it’s better if my hands are busy.”

I’m lucky, he thought, watching as she disappeared into the kitchen. A lot of parents wouldn’t have been so supportive, but his mother had always been his cheerleader.

That she was proud of him shouldn’t mean so much. He was sixteen, after all. In college, even. But down deep he felt like a little kid and her pride meant everything.

He looked at his phone, clutched in his hand. He’d kept himself from checking his e-mail after the retraction article went live. It hadn’t even been an hour, after all. But he should check his blog followers and YouTube subscribers. It would suck if his numbers dropped before they could make use of them.

He opened his account, relieved to see that his retraction had been received well. Lots of comments. Most of them positive. Of course there were trolls, but there would always be trolls.

He swiped to see his e-mail and smiled. Mrs. Sokolov had sent him a message, filled with smiley face emojis. She was such a nice lady. He hoped that she and his mom could be friends. He replied to Irina Sokolov with his thanks, then noticed a new e-mail.

The subject line read: Mercy Callahan. Hoping that it wasn’t anything bad—anything new that was bad, anyway—he opened it, read it, then read it again.

“Mom?” he called, then got up to find her in the kitchen. “I just got a weird e-mail. It’s from a lady in Reno who says she knows a man who claims to be Mercy’s father. He wants to contact her.”

His mother frowned. “That is weird. And suspicious. What if it’s the man who tried to abduct her from the airport? The one who killed that poor old lady in New Orleans?”

Jeff read the e-mail a third time. “The e-mail was written by an Edie Arthur and says the man’s name is Amos Terrill. She gives a phone number that I can call to reach him.” Quickly he did a reverse lookup on his phone. “It’s a public library in Reno.”