“Yes,” Tom said glumly.
Fox looked to Cypress. “You okay with him staying with you for a little while?”
“You think Tom is in danger?” Cypress narrowed his eyes.
“I think once I start pushing on Junior again, he’s gonna think someone talked, and there’s no one left to talk except Tom.”
“Fuck,” Tom gasped, fear twisting up his gut. “You think he’d come after me?”
“Were you gonna tell us about any of this?” Cypress demanded. “What the fuck, Fox?”
“Look, we found some embalming fluid over at Mr. Ross’s house, but I thought Junior was trading it for drugs,” Fox protested. “I didn’t know Tom was involved until you guys told me.”
“Junior had me sell it to get cash to go buy drugs from someone else,” Tom mumbled. “I guess ol’ Seymour wasn’t into cocaine.”
“Why do you keep calling him that?”
“Isn’t that his name?”
“Not legally, no. It’s a nickname. His name is actually Samuel.”
“Oh. The family told us Seymour.”
Fox looked like he had another thought but didn’t share it. “I’m hypothetically now advising you to take some time off work and stay over here with Cypress until I can find Junior.”
“I can’t miss work, I’ve got to—”
“Look, you tell them you’re sick. You tell them you’re pissing out of your ass if you have to.” Fox stood from the recliner. “But don’t go to work. If you see Junior, you call me.”
“Is he… missing?” Tom felt sick. “I just saw him at work yesterday.”
“He left the funeral he was working yesterday before it was over, and now he isn’t answering his phone. I don’t think he has the cash to run, but you never know what his father might do to help him. You see him, you call me immediately.”
“Yeah. Got it.”
“I would look into getting that lawyer,” Fox said gravely. “I’ll keep in touch. If things go down with Junior like I think they are, hypothetically, I’ll need you to come down to the station and make an official statement.”
“Can’t wait.”
Fox shook Cypress’s hand and patted Tom’s shoulder. “Take care of each other.”
“We will,” Cypress promised. “And if you hear anything you think we should know—”
“I will call you.” Fox shrugged. “Hypothetically.”
Tom wished there was booze in his coffee as he sipped it, waving farewell to Fox as he left. He waited until he heard the back door slam before mumbling, “I never want to hear the word ‘hypothetically’ ever again.”
“That makes two of us,” Cypress agreed, letting out a long sigh. “Well, shit. You okay?”
“Heh. Junior still could be a murderer, and Fox thinks he might come after me. So, uh, not so great.” Tom set the coffee down and rubbed his face. “Ugh. This sucks.”
“I know.” Cypress hugged him close, kissing the top of his head. “I can’t believe they haven’t arrested that little shit. I get he has an alibi for the murder, but what about the damn burglaries?”
“He was working services when most of them happened,” Tom explained. “I figured that out talking to everybody at work. He could have done a few of them, but not all.”
“Maybe he had help,” Cypress suggested. “Think about it. He meets with the families, figures out how much money they have and if it would be worth breaking into their homes, and he gets a second person to do the dirty work.”
“Wow,” Tom laughed. “You really are Sherlock, huh?”
