I heard the noise. The gasp. To be honest, I thought it came from me. I thought I’d made the noise when I saw her face and heard her name. Seeing it and hearing it on the news made it much more real even than touching her still body in her house. Seeing it on the news meant other people knew she was dead too. It meant I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. I hadn’t dreamed it.

“Ryan?” Amanda said behind me.

“Hold on.”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t know when she had come into the room. Was she the one who had gasped?

The story ended with the blond woman telling us that if we knew anything we should call the local police. As of now, she explained, they had no suspects and no motive in the crime.

Then she started talking about a classic-car show, something coming to town during the upcoming weekend.

Amanda crossed the room and muted the TV. She turned to face me.

“Where’s Henry?” I asked.

“I can see him. He’s going to town on his teething ring. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I was watching the news,” I said.

“You never watch the news. Not on TV anyway. Why are you watching it today?”

“We should check on Henry.”

She leaned back. “I can see him. He’s happy. You know that woman, Ryan. That’s Jennifer Bates. You know her. Ryan . . .” She shook her head. “Ryan, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Henry started whining in the kitchen.

“There, see. He’s not fine,” I said, hoping to change the subject away from me.

He couldn’t stand it when we—and especially Amanda—were out of his sight for any length of time. And he liked to let us know it. He awkwardly banged his hands against the high chair, rattling his plastic bowl.

Amanda hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on mine, and then she turned and went out to the kitchen to tend to Henry. But I knew the conversation wasn’t over. I turned the TV off and followed Amanda.

She stood at the counter, pouring milk into a cup. She brought it over to Henry and gave him a drink. He calmed down then, stopping his banging. Amanda straightened up and looked at me.

“What’s going on, Ryan?” she asked, emphasizing every word. “You’re out last night playing the world’s quietest basketball game. You’re talking to Blake outside. Late. You’re up all night. You say you’re not going to work. And now you have the TV on because someone you know, someone who was almost a client, has been murdered.”