“I—I—I’m sorry. We have someone who can help find out what happened to Angela.” I point down the street to the loft above Evans Antiques. I want to make it true, even though I know my focus has been on Jamal, and freeing Daddy.

He throws his hand out. “Bring my daughter back, if you want to help. Can you bring her back?”

My breath catches. Stunned. He knows that’s impossible.

“You can’t.” His eyes go wet. “Stay away. I hope they find Jamal and he rots in prison like he left my baby girl outside to do.”

I want to be outraged at his behavior, but I can’t. It’s shame. Pure shame running through my body, even though Jamal didn’t do nothing.

I escape to Elm’s Grocery, my cheeks red as I pass customers who witnessed the interaction outside. I hurry through the store, picking from Mama’s grocery list. I go to check out, and the grocer doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look up at me. They all know who I am. All itching for me to leave.

When he’s done, he rings me up. “That’ll be forty dollars and twenty-seven cents.”

He’s rushing me so fast he almost forgets to take my cash. I wave two twenties in front of me. He halfway apologizes but doesn’t meet my eyes while I fish around for the change.

“That’s okay. Forty is good.”

I ignore him. I’m not gonna have him say I shorted him. As I turn to exit, I bump into another customer.

“Sorry,” I say.

Without looking up, I scoot around to pass the guy.

He steps between me and the exit.

I glance up to give him a glare. My face drops when he stares at me with cold eyes. I almost let it slip out that I know him—the guy from Liberty Heritage for a New America. I now realize he was the same guy with Chris at the police station. He looks like a slightly younger version of Sheriff Brighton. My throat constricts when I know for sure he recognizes me, too. That’s why he stopped me.

“Excuse me,” I force out, shaking as I move left, then right, to get past him.

He blocks me again. Then finally he lets me pass, his hateful expression unchanged.

Relief sets in when he goes the other way. My steps are tentative. I’m so light-headed from the blood rushing through my body.

I cross the street and then call Officer Clyde, tell him about being harassed by the same guy from the break-in. I hear him write down a few things, and then he hangs up. Immediately, I text Beverly. I can’t take the chance Officer Clyde will let this pass because Sheriff Brighton might have a closer connection to it all.