Examining each photo took careful scrutiny until I smelled my grilled cheese burning. I yanked the skillet from the burner and scraped off the charred bits from the bottom. Sorta like how I felt if I’d wasted years of my life attempting to prove false charges.

I ate the sandwich anyway while examining the photos. Near midnight, I zoomed in on Shelby staring at her family on the way out of the courtroom on the day the jury reached a verdict. Softened features indicated a twinge of regret. Possibly fear. Or unbelief. Her cuffed hands were a hindrance to reading some nonverbal communication, but her shoulders slumped over a gaunt body, and she sobbed.

She’d shivered in the courtroom, as though her contemptible actions had hit her heart. The media used her tears to validate her guilt. TV and talk shows ran rampant exploiting teen crimes.

Her prison records noted her severe depression, abuse from gangs, and a refusal to eat. The assessment changed after she became a Christian. Except the gang beatings continued.

I headed for bed, but my restless thoughts churned like a whirlpool. Shelby’s intelligence helped her to achieve higher education, and I thought for too many years she’d planned the murder and the theft. Now my FBI instincts pushed me into uncertainty. What simmered beneath the surface? Why did someone want her dead? More importantly, who?

I fought the turmoil. The end of my investigation lay in mere days. Soon I’d get back to my job and bury this mess. But I had no real life to speak of. I’d put dating off until this was resolved, while my family urged me to put Shelby’s case to rest. They claimed my obsession with her had become a parasite. Their assessment hit the target. Vacations were spent alone. Holidays with my family teetered between awkward and why had I bothered?

My swirling thoughts persisted and robbed me of any rest. I pursued truth like a madman. At 2 a.m., I gave up my efforts to fall asleep. Wide-awake, I grabbed my laptop and crawled back into bed. The screen came to life, and I dug into the FBI’s secure site to find a connection between someone in Valleysburg and Shelby’s past.

When nothing snared my attention, I searched the Pearce family to see how they’d moved on with their lives. Her parents, close to retirement age, owned and operated a bakery. Marissa worked alongside them. She had a daughter who attended the local high school and made excellent grades. Typical. The family had chosen recovery instead of wearing the badge of a victim.

My thoughts circled back to Valleysburg and Randy Hughes, a bona fide bully. I hadn’t figured out if his attitude pointed to protecting Edie or something else. Since my ongoing investigation had led nowhere, I searched for info about Hughes, the representative of Valleysburg’s finest. Spit-polished and squeaky-clean. A classic example of a big brother watching over his widowed sister. Except for a few reports of verbal abuse and one of police brutality. Perhaps the plight of Shelby’s sister losing her husband intensified Hughes’s motivation.