“WHAT TIME AGAIN did you say you dropped her off?” Officer McAvoy asked, staring at Whitney with his disproportionately large wide-set eyes. He sort of resembled an insect with his balding head, pointy ears and round middle, but she instinctively liked him. Maybe it was his scent—a mixture of coffee and cigars—which reminded Whitney of how her grandpa had always smelled.

The second officer, Sandavol, walked around the family room, carefully studying everything. Sandavol was attractive with tanned skin, black hair, and a thick fringe of eyelashes framing her normal-sized eyes. She wasn’t as friendly as McAvoy, but Whitney could tell she was the type of woman to get the job done. From the minute she walked in she’d exuded confidence.

“Around five,” Whitney answered.

“And you don’t remember the exact location or the last name of the friend she was with?”

Whitney frowned. Officer Sandavol picked up a framed picture of Amelia that sat on Whitney’s desk and inspected it.

“No...” she replied distractedly, then blinked. “Sorry, I mean, yes.”

“So now you do remember?”

“No, I just meant...I mean, no, I don’t know Lauren’s last name...but I do know where I dropped Amelia off.” Whitney sighed. “Or at least I thought I did...” She looked to Natalie for help.

“Amelia’s sixteen years old,” Natalie said. “She’s been really asserting her independence lately. Whitney’s a great mom, but you can’t expect her to know every detail of her daughter’s life at all times. Trust me, I didn’t know all of my daughter’s friends when she was Amelia’s age, and I rarely knew where she was at.” She laughed, but the officers didn’t, so she stopped and threw Whitney an apologetic look.

Whitney knew Natalie was trying to help, but her words only made her feel worse. She should’ve known Lauren’s last name and she should have paid more attention to where she dropped Amelia off. Whitney wasn’t like Natalie. She knew every detail of Amelia’s life. She’d been trying to back off, give her space, but that had been a mistake.

“Does Amelia drive?” McAvoy asked.

“Not yet,” Whitney answered. Amelia had wanted to get her license the minute she turned sixteen. It was Whitney’s fault it had been delayed, a fact Amelia never let her forget. Whitney had waited too long to get her signed up for behind-the-wheel training, and the classes were full for months after Whitney called.

“Is this a recent picture of Amelia?” Officer Sandavol held up Amelia’s sophomore class photo.

Whitney nodded.

“Can we use it?”