“Eb did mention they grabbed three phones,” Lillie said. “How about we head on over and take a look. I’ll pass along this golden compass. Aren’t we due a big fat break right about now?”

*   *   *

They’d been sleeping in that nasty old house for two days, not at all what TJ expected, and sure as hell not a good place to bring John Wesley. Folks stopping by at all hours, tattooed and scratchy, as if clocks didn’t exist down in New Orleans, money being exchanged before they’d head to the back room where business was transacted. Chastity’s friend Graham seemed nice enough when they got there, early twenties with frat boy hair and a shaky little smile, sliding back a door to a little study where he’d set out a couple of air mattresses and showed John Wesley the TV and Xbox. There was a hot shower and a place to sleep, a little food, if not a lot in the way they’d been living.

She thought hard about what had happened south of Shreveport, although once she and Chastity got back into the car, they never said a word about it. TJ wasn’t sure if it was out of fear, trying to pretend it didn’t happen, or trying to protect John Wesley. Chastity pinned her ripped shirt back together, TJ used the cash in the trucker’s wallet to fill up the tank at the next gas station, and they rode in silence all the way into the city.

Once they settled at the house near Audubon Park, TJ got clean and changed her clothes, checking nonstop to see if anyone had connected her and Chastity to that old trucker. She saw not a word about that online, but did see that little video they made at the Tri-State Motel, not all but a minute, had been viewed more than a quarter million times. She had to show it to Chastity twice to make sure she wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there. The comments were better than great. They were damn well beautiful. where are you, chester pratt?, tj byrd is innocent!, find the real killer, and fly free byrd fly. Screenshots were shared, art was drawn, and hashtags were made. So many pictures of TJ up on that diving board, lit by the orange-and-black February twilight, fist held high proclaiming her innocence and why she ran.

It was her. But it wasn’t her. It was a new woman with jet black hair, boy short, and attitude to match. It kind of scared her, but she liked it all the same.