“It’s better if they self-soothe and learn to rest quietly on their mat or in their crate.”

“I wish I could take all your advice,” Luke said calmly, “strap it to a firework rocket, launch the thing into the sky, and then watch it explode.”

“Excuse me?” Kat demanded in an offended tone.

Luke met her eyes. “You heard me.”

Just as he’d known she would, she immediately backed down.

“May I hold her for a minute?” Trish asked sweetly.

He passed the puppy over. The older woman attempted to cuddle Agatha, who scrambled to get back to Luke. Not even Trish’s quivering Christmas tree earrings or the humming of “Away in a Manger” satisfied the dog.

“The puppy is not responding to lullabies,” Kat told Trish in a superior tone.

Trish stopped singing. “In that case, ’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house . . .’”

Agatha was having none of it.

“Oh my,” Trish murmured. “You really are partial to Luke, aren’t you, little sweetheart?”

“It’s best not to encourage such obvious favoritism when you’re training a puppy,” Kat announced. “You want them to show affection toward all—”

“Firework rocket,” Luke warned her, which shut her up.

He accepted the dog back from Trish.

When Mrs. Gomez and her daughter arrived to pick up their puppy, Luke gave Agatha an expression that said, I hope I never see you again.

Agatha, who went to the Gomezes happily enough, gave him a decisive look in return. It said, I’ll be back.

Luke received a text from his high school informant, Dylan Montgomery, near ten thirty on Friday night.

Dylan

I’m at a party and your sister is here, too. You asked me to let you know if I saw her smoking, vaping, or getting drunk. Sorry to say this, but she’s pretty drunk.

Luke cursed and texted Dylan back.

Luke

Thanks for telling me. Party address?

He’d been watching sports after finishing a take-out meal from the Junction. Trust Blair to ruin a perfectly good evening.

In his closet, he pulled on Nikes and a hoodie over his track pants and T-shirt.

Dylan texted him the party’s location before he reached his truck.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at a large piece of property set out in the country. The ground around the house had become a parking lot, packed with at least seventy-five cars.

Once again, Luke’s parents had their hands full with a headstrong child. In some ways, they were too kind to know how to restrain a kid like Blair.

Luke did not have that problem.

He entered the house, ignoring the confused and questioning looks of teenagers. The whole thing was so stupidly stereotypical. Kegs of beer. Liquor bottles covering the dining room table, surrounded by shot glasses and spilled alcohol. Thumping music. Kids dancing with their arms in the air. Other kids making out in corners.