“You think you know so much, don’t you? In your house and your perfect life. With your wife and baby and the sunlight always coming through the window just right. Even though it’s all built on a lie.” He continued to shake his head. “Not everybody’s life is like yours. Not everybody’s life looks like a magazine spread all the time. Not everybody cultivates the perfect social media feed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“What are you even talking about?” I asked. “Somebody’s dead, Blake. Murdered. Your ex . . . whatever she was. Girlfriend? And we’re talking about Instagram filters.”

“It’s a mess, Ryan. Everything is a mess. At least for the rest of us. This is what life is. It’s chaotic and messy. Hell, it’s like that for you too. People don’t know about the accident. You can’t neaten that up with the right filter. I’m in a big damn shit show right now.”

“The letters were gone, you idiot,” I said. “Do you understand? The letters, the whole reason I went in there, the things that are going to hang us both out to dry—they’re gone. What are we going to do about that? Do you have a plan for that?”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Did you panic and rush? Maybe you missed them.”

“I looked in the drawer you told me to look in. Someone had been through everything. The place was trashed. Could she have moved them?”

“I don’t know. She’s very organized. She had a place for everything and everything in its place. I just don’t know, Ryan.”

I walked over to him, and he drew back slightly. He eyed me with suspicion, but I made no hostile gestures. I felt like an animal trainer trying to get a scared squirrel to take a treat.

I held out my hand. “Come on. The ground’s soggy.”

“I know. I can feel it.”

He took my hand, and I hoisted him up so we stood face-to-face. “The cops have to be looking for you. They are going to go through everything in that house. They’re going to connect you to her somehow. You had to leave a trail. Do her friends know the two of you were dating?”

“Some did.”

“Then the cops will find out once they start talking to them.”

“Obviously.” He turned to the side and started pacing, running his hand through his hair. He came back to me. “Is she really dead?”

“Yes. Really. I’m sorry, but she is.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God.”

“How do you even know her?” I asked. “She works for that nonprofit, the one that helps former prisoners find jobs. Did you know she was almost a client of ours? We were going to help them with a media campaign.”

“How do you think I met her?” Blake asked.

“I didn’t introduce you.”