“No, I’ll go. You’re in a hurry. And I’m not sure I’m even doing the right thing. I feel like a little kid jumping at shadows.”

“It might be best.”

“Are you going to keep in touch while you’re out?” she asked. “I want to know that you’re okay. Even if you are doing something kind of stupid for a person who is definitely stupid.”

“I’ll keep in touch,” I said. “I promise.”

“You know what?” she said.

“What?”

“I have a feeling we’re not going to get to watch that movie tonight either.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I should have been going to work.

As I drove through town, I saw school buses and cars, service trucks and delivery people, everyone going about their daily routines. I should have been part of that stream, with nothing more to look forward to than meetings over coffee and a boatload of e-mails to answer.

Instead I drove through Rossingville—a small city named for a Union general who quartered his troops here during the Civil War and then decided to stay and farm—trying to find an old friend who might have committed a murder. And was definitely a suspect in one.

A light flashed on my dashboard display, and a chime sounded. Low fuel.

“Great.”

I’d planned on getting gas on the way home from the Pig the night before. Then Blake had distracted me and made me late. Then, when I went to Jennifer’s house, I ignored it again.

And there I was with a low-fuel warning.

But I caught a break. Just outside of our neighborhood, I passed a gas station, and I pulled up to a pump and started fueling. The station had just opened, and a tired-looking clerk with a ponytail and an arm full of tattoos pushed a rack of motor oil out the door and into place. When he stopped moving, he stretched his back, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through with his thumb.

I reached for my own phone and started scrolling while the tank filled. I wanted to see the latest about Jennifer. Anything new. But as was so often the case, I saw only the same things repeated over and over.

A car door slammed, but I didn’t look up. The sound barely registered.

A moment later I sensed someone standing near me.

“What are you looking at on there?”

My head snapped up, followed by the feeling of my chest deflating.

“Surprised to see me?” Dawn asked. She wore sunglasses and workout gear. Despite the early hour, her erect posture and crisp voice gave the impression of someone who’d been awake for hours. “We’re overdue for a talk.”

“Did you follow me? Were you at the house last night?”

“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Were you at my house? My wife called the police.”