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“Any recent arguments?”

“He says she was upset about everything.”

I pause thoughtfully. “Which means nothing.”

“Exactly.”

I write down Maggie White? then pause. “Surname?”

“Sterling,” she says. “She never married him.” Laurel watches the pen move. “What are you doing?”

“Building a structure.”

“For what?”

“For everything we don’t know yet.”

Her throat works. “That’s usually my job.”

“Then you can check my work.”

She looks away, then spears another bit of fried potato and eats it.

I notice the café has quietened about us and glance around.

Casper and Cyrus seem too deeply invested in their pancakes for credibility, while Ruth stirs her coffee too long and comments on the weather to Henry, who hasn’t turned his newspaper page in several minutes. Behind the counter, Lorna wipes down the same spotless stretch of laminate for the third time.

Nobody in Redwood Run ever admits to listening.

They do it anyway.

Laurel’s shoulders stiffen as she feels the attention, and she puts her silverware neatly on the side of her plate, pushing it away.

Lorna won’t like that.

I close the notebook. “Walk with me.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Pardon?”

“Walk with me. You need air. This room is nosy.”

From the counter, Lorna says, “This room has ears, Ashby.”

I nod. “My point exactly.”

Laurel glances around, then back at me. I can see the argument forming. The refusal. The instinct to stand alone because accepting help changes the shape of a person’s life.

Then she looks at the paper with my number, at the notes, the door. Finally, she stands.

“I have twenty minutes,” I tell her, heading for the door. “Tell me everything you know.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Laurel

Walking with a stranger is a terrible idea.

Walking with a stranger who knew my dead brother is worse.