Page 49 of Knockout

She’d opened it and found his father’s name inside the front cover, and then she'd leafed through and looked at where he’d made notes in the margin. Until it felt too much like intruding, and she’d set it down.

Peter pulled onto a residential street, their destination.

She said, “I’ve gotta get back to work, but I’ll call you later.”

“Sure, sure.” Destiny used, like brushing Roxie off when she didn’t want to.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m good.”

“Are you?” Roxie had enough people forcing her to be honest that she could repay the favor with Destiny. Get her to spill her worries and trust Roxie to carry that burden. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you later. It’ll keep.”

“As long as it will.” Maybe it was about Jasper.

“I just decided something, that’s all. I’ll tell you about it at dinner.”

“Or lunch. We might come by Backdraft to eat.” She glanced at Peter, who nodded. “I’ll text you.”

“Thanks, Rox.”

They parked and headed together to the front door. Both of them had ID cards that proved they worked for Vanguard, which carried some weight with the local community.

Roxie knocked on the front door of a tiny gray house with a red door and flowerpots beside the stoop. The flower beds needed weeding, and the plants might be those ones that came back every year, so you didn’t have to keep planting more.

She’d wanted land and a garden once. Maybe planters of vegetables. Even a dog.

Not things that worked in a townhome with no garden.

Roxie had so much “one day” and “probably wouldn’t happen” bottled up inside her that it was a wonder she didn’t explode.

The door cracked open. An older woman with a walker stood there, staring at them through bottle-thick glasses. A halo of white curls encircled her head. She wore a polyester pair of pants and a knit sweater.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Roxie took the lead in explaining who they were. “We understand your son lives here with you, is that correct? We’d like to speak with him.”

She frowned. “Elyan hasn’t lived here in years. He doesn’t come around anymore, but he left all his stuff.”

Which was exactly why they were here.

Another person had been killed in a car accident where the body burned up on impact. Not exactly what happened in her case, but close enough. So far, it connected to the nurse who’d died years ago before she could speak to Sierra.

Too many similar incidents to be a coincidence, even if she was inclined to believe that. Which she wasn’t.

“Would it be okay if we came in? It’s pretty chilly out here, and I wouldn’t want to raise your heating bill.”

“Yes, dear.” She shuffled back, and they stepped into the foyer. “Would you like some tea, dear?”

“I could make it,” Peter offered. “My mother taught me how. I still drink tea when I need to sit and find some clarity. Remember her a little bit.”

The older woman completely melted, faced with a handsome young man who loved his mother and drank tea. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I think I have some biscuits.”

She had a slight trace of an Eastern European accent.

As Roxie moved behind them, she said, “Is it okay if I use your restroom, ma’am?”

“Oh, call me Ethel.”

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