“The short version is that it’s about the painting. In some circles, it’s famous. It’s worth millions.”

Millions. Carly looked at the blanket-wrapped lump buckled in behind Marcelline and realized that millions was a concept in the same category as light-years. She didn’t really know what that was equal to in real life.

“And it’s stolen.”

“He stole it?” Carly went goggle-eyed at the image in her mind of her stepfather as a cat burglar.

“No. Jonathan didn’t steal it. I mean, not the original theft. But he ended up with it. People got hurt.”

A list of reasons waded into the tears that finally sprang up in Carly’s eyes—all of it changing John in her memory into something else, something that pulled so many things in her life out of their happy shape. “Did he do that to you?”

Marcelline clenched her teeth, and the ruined side of her face jumped grotesquely. “Not exactly. But he let it happen. He caused it. And he . . .” She sighed. “Let’s let that be enough for right now.”

The awkward pause cooled off.

Marcelline took a deep breath. “Anyway, I can’t understand how Jonathan would risk hanging it in your house. What a crazy thing to do. But there it was in the video. Just the corner of it. I saw it online. It’s what brought me here.”

“He didn’t do it. Hang it up, I mean. My mom found it and really liked it. She hung it up when we were unpacking.”

Marcelline laughed. “Poor Jonathan. He must have just about crapped his pants. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. ‘Poor Jonathan’ is not a thought that sits very well in my head.” She laughed again.

“You always call him Jonathan, but it’s just John. It’s not shortened or anything. I mean, not on his driver’s license and the bills and stuff. Just John. But you know what’s weird? This big huge guy who came to the house the other day called him that, too. When they were talking, he always called him Jonathan.

Carly replayed the guy filling up their doorway, flirting with her mother, menacing Carly by not trying too hard not to. “Wait. He kept looking at the wall. Marcelline! He kept looking at the place it was hanging before. He knew about it, too! I knew he must have seen it in the video. But he was looking for the painting.”

Marcelline hadn’t said anything during Carly’s moment of revelation. In fact, she’d gone like a hole in the air, dead silent. Staring at Carly, openmouthed.

The driver behind them tapped his horn as a friendly reminder that the light had turned green.

Marcelline ignored him. “A huge guy came looking for Jonathan?”

•  •  •