Page 153 of Five Mountain Daddies

“Right.” She has a cigarette in her hand, which makes me frown. I thought she quit a couple months ago, but I don’t say anything. “Well, come onin.”

She’s sitting in the kitchen with her laptop on the table and a glass of wine next to it. She’s looking at Facebook, and I bet she’s been talking on the phone. This is a pretty typical Sunday morning for her, and it’s actually a good sign. Right after Atticus was found dead, she couldn’t do anything but lie in bed and drink. At least now she’s doing her drinking in thekitchen.

“Want something to eat?” she asksme.

“No, I’m okay.” I put my bag down on a chair. I open up the refrigerator and take out a Coke, popping itopen.

“Do you know how to block people on Facebook?” she asks me, sitting down again in front of her laptop and slipping some glasses onto hernose.

I laugh a little. “Sure,why?”

“It’s this guy from way back.” She frowns, shaking her head. “Keeps messaging me aboutAtticus.”

“What kind of messages?” I ask, looking over hershoulder.

“Trying to be nice. But really, wanting something.” She looks up at me. “Know what Imean?”

I just nod. “Here, this is how you doit.”

She shows me the guy’s page. He looks pretty bland, but they always do. Internet creeps are more common than genuinely nice people, unfortunately. I block him for her before sitting down in the chair across thetable.

“Thanks,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. I sip my Coke. “What are you up to today?” she asksme.

I shrug a little. “Probably seeing Wyattlater.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Atticus’s old friend? Thecop?”

“That’s the one,” Isay.

“What are you hanging around himfor?”

I can’t bear to look at her. “We’re investigating themurder.”

She goes silent. It’s that word, “murder,” she’s unable to say it. Makes her clam up whenever someone else does, like she’s in denial or something. Like they didn’t find her son’s body stabbed andshot.

“You should let the police handle that,” she saysfinally.

“Maybe. But let’s be honest, mom. They’re not exactly workinghard.”

Her face shows nothing. “I’m sure they’retrying.”

“Maybe.” I finally meet her gaze directly. “Can you do me afavor?”

She sighs. “What?”

“Do you remember his ex verywell?”

“Whichone?”

“Kristi,” I say. “Short, hair dyed streaky blonde.” I hesitate before adding, “Junkie, likehim.”

That jogs her memory. “Never likedher.”

“Were theyclose?”

She shrugs. “He mentioned her once or twice.” She laughs suddenly. “She came over for dinner a few monthsago.”

“Really?”

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