Jason straightened. “Maybe not, but it’s not allowed in this business.” He leaned back and scratched his thick hair, his brow furrowing. “I’m fairly certain it’s only legal for twenty-one and above. You’re seventeen.”

Davie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Whatever.”

Jason exhaled and then partially turned to face Laurel. “He’s a good kid but seems to have screwed up. Please don’t arrest him.”

Laurel held up a hand. “I have no intention of arresting him right now, but he has to answer my questions.”

Jason pulled Davie toward the counter. “He will.” When Davie turned to him to apparently object, Jason lowered his chin. “He. Will. Now.”

Davie looked at Laurel. “Fine,” he snapped.

“Where is Tommy?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I really don’t know where he is right now. Probably at home or at some chick’s house. They all spread their legs for Tommy Bearing, mayor’s kid.”

Jason groaned. “Stop being a dick.”

“Sorry,” Davie muttered.

Haylee looked at them all, her head jerking from one to another. “Maybe, I think, maybe we should have his mom here? If he’s being interrogated by the FBI?”

Davie snorted. “She’s not at home, Haylee. I’m sure she’s working for minimum wage in Seattle and won’t be home till the wee hours.”

“I’m not interrogating anybody,” Laurel said, her patience rapidly dwindling. “I merely want to know where you and Tommy were today, Davie. You both missed school.” She was just postulating that Davie had skipped school as well. “Where were you?”

Davie kicked the bottom of the counter. “Fine. We skipped because school is boring and went and got a little high. We stayed there for most of the day because Tommy had brought food and his laptop, so we got high and streamed movies for hours. It was great.”

“Where?”

Davie closed his eyes and then finally seemed to relax. “At the greenhouse. His aunt has a greenhouse, and she grew some of the good stuff. We sneak in there every once in a while and take some. She never cared. She was cool.”

Haylee moved toward him. “There’s a usable greenhouse? Why haven’t you said anything?”

Davie shrugged. “Because we get our pot there. It’s a secret.”

This was news. “I take it you’re not talking about the small greenhouse near her home?” At his nod, Laurel took her phone out to text Nester. “Where is this greenhouse? There’s no record of Sharon Lamber owning a second greenhouse. The one she used at the college didn’t have marijuana.” Or black dahlias. What was in this new greenhouse? Was it possible the killer had used Lamber’s own flowers?

“It’s down a private road off Balsam Street,” Davie said. “By that old hunting and guiding place that went out of business?”