He gently grabs the back of Chris’s neck. My eyes well at the sweet gesture between father and son. Then I begin to wonder how much it’ll hurt when Chris learns Angela’d been spending time with Jamal. That kind of secret comes out at trials, and I hope it doesn’t make Jamal seem more of a suspect. When Chris turns, his piercing blue eyes are hidden behind a black right eye, his face all splotchy and red.

I squint at him.

The sheriff goes back to his office, and Chris is joined by a guy who looks to be in his forties. He’s wearing a USA hat and a collared shirt with nice dress pants. He makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He puts his arm around Chris, waves at the sheriff, and whispers something to Chris. I see a resemblance between this man and Chris and the sheriff, the same broad build and strawberry-blond hair. Definitely related.

The guy leads Chris down the hallway, without letting go of him. Chris is shook. Part of me is angry with Jamal for messing with Chris’s girlfriend. How stupid do you have to be to run around with someone who’s dating the sheriff’s son? This might be what got the cops after Jamal for Angela’s murder. An easy suspect. That’s the fastest way to jail—don’t stop at go, don’t collect two hundred dollars.

Theories flood my mind: Chris killed Angela. Jamal and Chris got into a fight; Angela died by accident. Whatever the case, it’ll be Chris’s word against Jamal’s. I don’t care about the blood; Jamal couldn’t have killed her. Whatever happened, though, I need to hear it from Jamal.

Chris passes without even noticing me. I can’t say the same for Mr. USA, who stops dead in his tracks by Mama. She must feel his scrutiny, because she opens her eyes. She folds her arms tighter around herself, like she wants to disappear. I’ve never seen Mama show her fear in public. Chris watches Mr. USA, and then he finally recognizes me.

“Your brother’s not getting away with this,” he says.

I tighten my fists at my sides, ready for an altercation with Chris. “He didn’t do this. He could never—”

“Chris! You don’t say a word to anyone,” Sheriff Brighton calls out, then charges toward the front desk.

“Let’s go.” Chris gives me a glare before he exits, breaking out of the hold of the guy with him.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Mama pulls at the cross on her necklace.

“Mrs. Beaumont.” Sheriff Brighton approaches Mama. “I hope you’re here with word about your son.”

Mama goes to answer him, but not before I step in front of her.