“Anyway,” Keegan went on, “I was in the living room and she was in his bedroom, talking to me about how cute Ryan had been as a baby, when she stopped talking. I asked if she was okay, and she didn’t say anything. I went to see if something was wrong, but she came out of the bedroom with her phone in her hand and a really funny look on her face.”

“She got a text from him,” I said, guessing.

Keegan shrugged. And nodded. “Maybe. But why didn’t she say anything to me about it?”

To me, the answer was obvious. Danielle Anderson was a mother and she was protecting her son.

But before I could say so, Keegan’s phone trilled and she pulled it out of the pocket of her fleece hoodie to silence it. “Sorry, but I have to go. I have a project at work I’m way behind on. I just came home to get something to eat. If I hear from Ryan, I’ll let you know, okay?”

She kindly gave me a ride to the end of the driveway, and when I was almost back to the bookmobile, Julia opened the door.

“Thanks,” I said, climbing the stairs. I stood on the plastic mat and pulled off my boots, which, instead of red, were now the color of early April. “I didn’t learn much, but—”

“Minnie,” Julia said quietly. “You need to sit down.”

I blinked. Her tone was more serious than I’d ever heard. I sat on the carpeted step that ran in front of the bookshelves and served as both a ladder to reach the top books and as seating.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying not to think of all the possibilities.

“It’s Pug Mattock,” she said.

I blinked again. “Pug? What about him?”

“He was found at his house. He’s dead.”

“That can’t be right,” I said. “He was on the bookmobile just the other day. He was fine. You must have . . .” What? Confused him with some other guy who went by the name Pug? “You must be wrong.”

But she shook her head, saying, “My husband just called.” She held up her phone, then let her hand fall to her side. “Pug was shot. He was murdered.”

Chapter 5

Over a dinner of grilled chicken on spinach with toppings of the few vegetables we had in the refrigerator, I told Rafe what I knew about Pug Mattock. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t all that much.

“He was basically a sales guy,” I said, inspecting a piece of red pepper for signs of old age. “Most of his career he worked for a company that made car parts. Something for the interiors, I think it was. Liners? Is that a thing?”

“Headliners?” he asked.