He pulses in the doorway, unsure.

“Marlitt’s taking some much-deserved time off,” Truman cuts in behind me. I feel him stand and move around his desk. And although I want to hear the rest, the thought of Truman patting me on the shoulder again sends me sliding out of the room.

“See you in a week,” I say to Oliver. His eyes, like Truman’s, land on my face, and he looks like he might try to hug me.

“Two,” Truman growls at my back. “Oliver, in here now.”

Oliver shuts the door with a weary smile that’s supposed to make me feel better, but I know he would close the blinds on the window if there were any.

I glance at the whiteboard.

In the weeks I’ve been gone, alibis have been checked and double-checked. Tripp. Michael. Cade. Even Samantha and Katie. The look alike Jays. All eliminated. Every brother and classmate, professor and childhood friend have their names crossed off. Photos of the vehicle and license plate have been circulated from here as far as Virginia, Mississippi, and Florida. If the guy was still driving it, we’d have him by now. Looks like after the tearful interview given by the parents and the promise of a reward for information, the phone was ringing off the hook. But no credible leads. Nothing. No enemies. No illegal activities came up on him or his brothers. There’s a scribbled note that Jay was on antidepressants and painkillers at his time of death, but they were doctor prescribed and legally obtained.