"I should've done better." The words burst out. "I should've been a better friend."
I leaned over the console and pulled her into my arms. She buried her face against my shoulder. "You were a good friend. The best friend she had."
"I wasn't, though." Mia's voice was muffled. "I let her down. I failed her."
I held her tighter. "Leah knew you loved her."
Mia pulled away. Her expression shifted, something dark behind her eyes. Dread. Guilt. Apprehension. She turned the hat over again in her hands.
A mix of frustration and helplessness welled up inside me. I squeezed her shoulder. This time, she didn't pull away.
Apollo whined, his tail thumping the seats. "We should get back. Apollo wants his afternoon snack. I bet you're hungry, too. How about I make us some cheesy nachos, and then I'll help you with that English essay on Romeo and Juliet you've been working on?"
Mia nodded. We drove the rest of the way home in silence. We'd barely gotten out of the car when I saw it.
The front door wasn't latched. It rested against the frame, not flush.
I stopped so fast that Mia bumped into me. Apollo's head came up, ears forward. A low sound rumbled in his chest. I tightened the leash.
"Did you leave that open? Maybe this morning before you left?" My voice sounded wrong in my ears.
Mia shook her head.
"Stay outside the house," I said. "If I yell go, you call 911 and go to Camille's house."
Mia nodded, swallowing.
"Apollo, come." I pushed the door with the side of my foot. It swung without protest. The dog moved forward when I moved, silent, his tail level. He sniffed the rug by the sink, the air near the island, then pulled me toward the living room.
There was no mess. No drawers yanked out, no couch cushions flipped over. The house should have looked the same. It didn't.
Behind me, Mia gasped.
My gaze followed hers to the coffee table. Leah's painting, the Tiscornia Beach watercolor that had hung above Mia's bed, lay propped against the wood.
Someone had slashed it. Deep gashes carved through the sunset sky and wildflowers, the lighthouse and pier. Across the top, scarlet spray paint screamed a single word: "GUILTY."
Anger and fear churned in my gut. Someone had done this. Someone had invaded our privacy, our home, our sanctuary. Someone hated us this much.
Mia gave a short, wounded whimper. She moved past me, reaching for the canvas, then withdrew her hand like she'd touched a hot stove.
"Don't," I said quickly. "Don't touch anything."
"Why would…who would do this?" She stopped herself and looked at me, eyes glassy. "This was Leah's. She made it for me. It was hers."
"I know." My hand went to my back pocket. I tugged out my phone.
Apollo circled the room once, his nose down, tail wagging, not in alarm but curiosity. Did that mean that he recognized whoever had been here? Likely, he did. Not that he’d alert us to a stranger, either. All humans were friends to Apollo.
Mia swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "We have to call someone. Mom, we have to. This is…this is awful."
"I know." I unlocked my phone. I pictured uniformed officers in our living room, their gloves snapping on. The headlines:Psycho mother claims break-in without evidence. Daughter a suspect in classmate's death.
Was it the wrong choice to call 911? To bring the police into the sanctity of our home, the cops with their eyes on Mia as their prime suspect? I didn't know.
But our home had been violated again. Panic bit at my throat. I looked at my daughter's stricken, terrified face. I made the call.
Chapter Twenty-Four
