“Did she see anything the night that Autumn was shot?”
“She said she didn’t.”
“That’s disappointing. Did you tell her that you were trying to solve Autumn’s murder?”
“I did.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Paula takes a long sip of her lemonade.
“What does ‘hmm, interesting’ mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that I find it strange that Yumi didn’t see anything that night.” Paula leans over and flicks a bug off Finn’s shoulder. “After all, she’s out there on that porch of hers practically twenty-four hours a day.”
“True.”
“And then, on the one evening when a terrible crime occurs in our little neighborhood, literally in her backyard…” Paula pauses and frowns. “All right, not literally, but you get my point—very nearby—she doesn’t see anything. Or so she claims.”
“What are you driving at?”
“Not driving at anything. I just find it odd, that’s all.”
“You think Yumi knows more than she’s saying. But why wouldn’t she tell me if she saw someone? Why would she protect a murderer?”
“Good questions, all.”
“You know, that’s an annoying habit of yours,” Finn says. “Stir up a lot of stuff and then sort of shrug and not say anything.”
“I can see how that might be frustrating.” Paula gives him a tiny smile.
“You remind me of a teacher who won’t tell the class the correct answer. Just tortures them.”
“I can assure you I don’t have any answers.”
Finn’s phone buzzes loudly on the table, and he grabs it. “It’s a text from Jo.”
We are heading out of town soon and wanted to talk to you about maybe house slash dog sitting while we’re gone? Are you free to stop by around six?
He rereads it to make sure he’s got it right. Jo wants to see him in person, in a few hours. His heart palpitates wildly. Could Jo know where he was this morning? Could Tori have told her about the visit? It can’t be a coincidence.
“What is it, Finn?” Paula asks. “Everything all right?”
“Jo wants me to stop by.” He looks up to see his landlady staring at him intently. “She’s going out of town and wants me to dog-sit Muffinhead.”
“I see. What are you going to do?”
He doesn’t answer Paula. Instead, he types back.
Works for me. See you then.
Finn puts the phone down and looks up at Paula. “I’m going, of course.”
“And your promise to that detective?”
“What?” He shrugs, hoping to seem more confident than he really feels. “I’m a dog walker.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You think it’s some kind of trap?”
