“That was dumb, but your mom forgave me. And I’ve tried to be a better person since then, not such a know-it-all, not telling everyone how to live their lives. Trying to keep a lid on the anxieties.”

Angie nodded. “We’ve noticed. You’ve been doing not too badly.”

I smiled again. God, she was beautiful, this girl of mine. “Thanks for noticing. But I let myself get dragged into something where I didn’t belong, and it’s blown up big-time.”

“Where do you think Trixie is?” Angie asked. “She’s really got a daughter?”

“So she said, just before she took off. I guess, wherever her daughter is, that’s where she’s going to go.”

Angie knew Trixie. Of course, she’d met her when we used to be neighbors, but Angie had also consulted Trixie, given her area of expertise, for some background on at least one of her psych courses. “I think she’d be a good mom,” she said.

My eyebrows went up. “You think?”

“She’s a nice person. Like, just because she does what she does doesn’t mean she can’t be a nice person. I mean, you’re the one who’s her friend and everything.”

I sighed. “Look where it’s got me.”

She reached out and touched my hand. “You always get in trouble because you care. You care about us, and you care about your friends. Maybe a bit too much, sometimes.”

I smiled. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

Angie smiled. “Mom.”

“I think she thinks I had something going on with Trixie. She left some lipstick when she kissed me, when I was handcuffed to the railing. I wasn’t really in a position to resist.”

Angie said, “I wonder if all the other girls have these kinds of chats with their dads.”

“I don’t, you know. Have something going on with Trixie.”

“I know. I know you’d never do that to Mom.” She paused. “Or to me and Paul.”

I took a sip of cold coffee. “I don’t know what to do now. I’m suspended, Mom’s been demoted. The cops, Detective Flint, they’re probably wondering whether I really do have anything to do with Martin Benson’s death. Trixie’s run off with my car.”

“Too bad you weren’t able to get hers,” Angie said. “It’s a lot nicer than ours.”

“Yeah, well, the police are probably going over it for hidden bloodstains, hairs, you know the drill, you’ve seen CSI. But Trixie showed up at the house after Benson was killed. I don’t think they’re going to find anything.”

Angie got up and went looking for cookies. “I need an Oreo or I’ll die,” she said. She found the bag in the pantry and brought it back to the table. “So who do you think killed that guy? He wrote for the Oakwood paper, right?”