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Gone.

Shattered sixty feet below.

I know it is only glass, wood, and paper. I know Mama is not inside it.

Grief does not give a shit about logic.

Mercy grabs my face.

“Look at me.”

I do.

“Do not go.”

“I know.”

“Say it.”

“I won't.”

“Good.”

Her phone is still connected to Hyde. She lifts it again.

“He has the frame at the murder hole.”

A pause.

“No. Sweet is with me.”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

She walks two steps away so she can hear over another burst of noise outside. Lark goes to the back window. Junie checks the side door. Petal finally sits because apparently even she has limits on how long she can stand through a kidnapping attempt aimed at somebody else’s dead mother.

I stare at the photograph.

The murder hole is close. Not across town or miles into the woods. It is on the property, down the old cement dump road that curves beyond the vendor area, past the coffin booth, through the trees.

Razor is here.

Close enough to take that picture.

Close enough to watch me.

Hyde knows now.

The club knows.

They will go.

They will find him.

They will get Mama.

That is what smart people do.