“It sounds like the cleanin’ lady was bound to get killed by her husband sooner or later,” said Jesse as he hung up a fresh shirt, pulling at a slight crease. “That’s what you call an established MO.”

“Excuse me? Since when did you start talking like a cop?”

“That Detective Bruxton is kinda cute,” said Jesse, hanging up a pair of jeans. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“The last thing I need right now is you meddling in my love life. I’m here to find my sister. Bruxton’s here because he feels bad that the case was closed. That’s all.”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, Tiger Lily. He’s sweet on you.”

I went into the bathroom to change into fresh clothes. When I came out, the sight of a handgun sitting next to a toiletry bag stopped me in my tracks. “Tell me you didn’t bring a real gun.”

“C’mon, Lil. Things have been crazy. I mean, Tariq got shot. Tariq! By your lousy ex, no less.” Jesse shook his head. “Things are screwy around here and until they’re set right, I’m packin’ heat.”

“So you’re going to play vigilante?”

“I’m not fixin’ to shoot anybody. But when the other guy’s bringin’ a gun to the fight, you don’t pack a peashooter.”

I knew that Jesse owned a gun, but I’d never seen it before. It was surprisingly innocent looking, like a misallocated movie prop with its silver barrel and black handle. “I don’t understand how you could even want to touch a gun, after what… happened… with your parents,” I told him.

There was a long pause. Jesse avoided looking at me. I wondered what he remembered when he thought about his parents. Their murder-suicide must have cast a pall over every family memory he ever had, the way that my father’s death haunted every Christmas and my mother’s suicide lurked in the air over New Year’s.

“It’s the damnedest thing,” said Jesse. “You’re like a terrier, holdin’ on to the bad stuff for dear life. Like you’re afraid to exist without it.”

“That’s not true.”

“Lotta bad things have happened to you over the years, Lil. But you hold on to each one like it’s some kind of treasure. Like you want to remember it.”

“How could I forget? Why would I want to?”

“You obsess. Like with that bracelet. Since you got it back you’re clingin’ to it for life.”

“My father gave it to me,” I said.

“My daddy gave me my first gun,” said Jesse. “When I was twelve. We used to go huntin’ together.” He picked up the handgun, looking at it from different angles. “It’s at home in Oklahoma. Kind of hard to hide a rifle. My daddy never laid eyes on this one.”