The knock on my door jolts me out of my concentration. The liner slips from my hand as my head whips toward the door. “Who is it?”

“Glover.”

Fuck. What is she doing here?

I have to let her in. Anything else will seem suspicious. I take a breath and open the door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Ms. Van Doren,” she says, reticent, wearing her best cop face. “I know the funeral is today.”

I nod, keep my head down. “Starts in a few minutes,” I say, hoping she takes the hint.

“You mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure. No problem.” I walk back over to the mirror and start winging my eyes. I draw a line and quickly smudge it away, realizing how much my hand is shaking, then drag it on again, smoother this time.

Glover pulls out a notepad but doesn’t look at it. “Ms. Van Doren, what is your relationship with Nate Robinson?”

My stomach tightens. Nate? Why the hell is she asking about Nate? I shrug. “He’s a friend. We actually were together for a while, but—”

“When’s the last time you saw or spoke to him?”

My hand goes still. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what this has to do with my father.”

“I would appreciate it if you would just answer the question, Ms. Van Doren.”

I swallow, hating that I don’t know where this is going. “Last time I spoke to him was a while ago,” I say, the lie coming before I can think it all the way through.

Glover meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes inscrutable. “I spoke to the doorman that works at Nate’s apartment building. Raul Sanchez. He says you came into the lobby around three in the afternoon a couple weeks ago. Can you explain what you were doing there that day?”

Shit. I think very carefully before I speak, realizing right away what day she must be talking about. “I was just going up to see him. You know, talk, chill.”

“But you didn’t go upstairs. You left a few minutes after you arrived.”

“He wasn’t there.”

Glover gives me a long look, head cocked to the side. “You’re a Zoomer. No way you got all the way over there without shooting him a text first to see if he was home.”

I turn to face her, only one eye finished. “It was one of those no-panties-no-bra kind of surprises.” I drop my eyes down to her waist, then back up. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

She breaks the eye contact and her nod is absent-minded, her gaze trained on her notepad now. “Raul also says he remembers you coming in the day your father was murdered. Around noon. There was some sort of accident outside, and you came in for help.”

I shake my head. “Must have been someone else.”