Unless something else had pointed her in my direction.

Fingerprints.

A witness, like the dog walker.

I said, “You know her job, that nonprofit—they worked with prisoners, men returning to the workforce when they get released. Could one of those guys have hurt her?”

“We’re well aware of her job and the people she might have met. So, outside of this work transaction and these Facebook messages, you didn’t know her. You didn’t see her socially or spend time with her?”

“That’s right.”

“And just for my records, because I know my boss will ask about it, where were you yesterday?”

“What time?”

“Oh, any time. All day. Humor me. Account for all of your movements. Where were you?”

I summarized my day. Work from morning until evening. Stopping by the Pig after work. The coffee with Blake. Then home. And then . . .

“I played basketball at the Y last night. They have a league that goes late on Thursday.”

She nodded. “But I want to go back to your friend Blake Norton.”

I heard Amanda on the stairs, the wood squeaking as she came down. She swept into the living room, carrying Henry on her hip.

“What about Blake?” Amanda asked. “Did something happen to him?”

Rountree stood up and smiled when she saw Amanda and Henry. Her face showed more warmth than it had shown to me. I stood up as well and introduced them.

Rountree reached out and shook hands with Amanda. Then she turned her attention to Henry. “Who is this handsome little man?”

“This is Henry,” Amanda said.

Rountree leaned in and rubbed her index finger against Henry’s cheek, prompting him to smile toothlessly. She had no idea how lucky she was not to have shown up fifteen minutes earlier, when he smelled like a toxic-waste dump.

“Did you say something about Blake?” Amanda asked.

Rountree appeared reluctant to take her attention away from Henry, but she did, straightening up. And once she did, her face went back to being all business.

“Right, Mr. Norton. You all are friends with him, aren’t you?”

“We are,” I said.

“Mostly Ryan,” Amanda said at the same time. “But, yes, we both are.”

Rountree withheld comment. “Do you know where he is? We’d like to talk to him.”

“Isn’t he home?” I asked. “Or he’ll be at work eventually.”

“Wait. Why do you want to talk to him?” Amanda asked.

Rountree looked at both of us. “Because of his relationship with Jennifer Bates. Didn’t you know he was romantically involved with her?”

Amanda gasped. For the second time that day. Her mouth formed an O that made her look like Henry. And then she raised her hand to cover her mouth.