She hustled down the hall, and Marshal looked over my shoulder when I heard the dryer door open. I shifted in the reflected green light of the hallway, uncomfortable not knowing what they’d talked about. My pie sat over us, and I wondered if he’d mind if I ate it.

“I’m really sorry about this,” I said, sending my attention down the empty hall. “It’s my mom’s mission in life to find a boyfriend for me, and she doesn’t listen when I tell her to stop.”

Marshal’s gaze shifted over the pictures before him with interest. “It was my idea.”

A warning flag went up in me. He had to know what had happened after he left at sunrise this morning. I mean, he had talked to Jenks, and the bite marks on my neck were obvious. If it had been me, I would have been halfway to Mackinaw by now.

Marshal’s gaze was on my favorite picture of me in the fall leaves when he said, “Jenks wanted me to tell you Ivy said she’ll be out late tonight, getting her old friends sugared enough to talk about the night your boyfriend died.”

The hesitation before he took a breath told me he had wanted to add something, but he stayed silent. “Thank you,” I said cautiously, trying to figure it out.

“She said she’d be back by sunup,” he added, and I shifted to make room for my mom as she approached, my coat over her arm, my bag in one hand and a slice of pie on a napkin in the other.

Maybe he thinks he can rescue me? No one is that stupid.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, taking my coat and bag as Marshal flushed and made awkward comments about the pie she was pushing at him. The cooler air coming in had tripped the furnace, and I shrugged into my coat to relish the warmth soaking into me.

My mom beamed, her gaze running over both of us. “I put your costume charms in your purse,” she said as she wound a red scarf around my neck to hide the red-rimmed marks made by Ivy’s teeth. “You forgot them Sunday. Oh, and that nice Were called while you were sleeping. He wants to pick you up tomorrow at one. He says wear something nice.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Have fun!” she finished cheerfully.

But I didn’t want to have fun. I wanted to find out who had killed Kisten and tried to bind me.

“Wait, wait,” my mom said as she opened the closet door and pulled out my battered pair of white roller skates. “Take these. I’m tired of them being in my closet,” she said, looping them over my arm and handing me the rest of my pie from the top of the bookcase. “Enjoy yourselves.” She gave me a kiss, whispering, “Call me after sunset so I don’t worry?”