“Why do you say that?”

“I know Jennifer. What’s she done now?”

“She’s dead. Murdered.”

The woman drew in a breath but didn’t seem too torn up about the news. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You good friends with Jennifer?”

“We worked together. Got along well enough. Look, I don’t want to be a witch, but I have exactly ten minutes to have a smoke before I go out again.”

Melina felt no sense of urgency. Her questions would take as long as she wanted. “Do you know who she was dating?”

“There was a guy, Billy, who worked as a bartender, but they broke up about three months ago.”

“Where did he work?”

She hesitated, as if searching for the name. “Red’s, I think. I remember because he treated me to a round of drinks. Jennifer hung out there a lot.”

“Her sister said she was sober five years.”

“She didn’t do drugs, but she still drank. In her mind that was sober.”

Melina scribbled more notes. “Anyone recently?”

“She met a guy at Red’s a couple of weeks ago. Jennifer liked him and said he had asked her out. He knew music and some of the bands. They had a lot in common.”

“Did they hook up?”

“Yeah. She was like a schoolgirl after their first date. He said he was in the music business and could introduce her to people.”

“Did she believe him?”

Another puff of smoke crossed her lips as she shrugged. “If I had a nickel for all the faux music producers I’ve met, I’d be rich. I don’t think she really believed him, but they were having a good time.”

“Your boss said she worked her last shift on Sunday, August sixteenth. Did she have a date with her guy that night?”

“Yeah, I think she did.”

“And do you recall his name?” Melina asked.

“I’m not sure. It was a young-sounding name. The kind a little boy uses.”

“Sonny?”

Her gaze brightened. “Yeah, that’s exactly right.”

“Thanks.”

Sean trotted toward them, and the woman dropped her cigarette and ground it onto the pavement. “I’ve got to go.”

Melina stood still as the woman grabbed a water bottle and then jogged back toward the open-air bus.

“Well, good morning, Nashville!” she shouted. The bus engine roared as it pulled away onto First Street.

“I’m going to need to see your receipts, Sean,” Melina said.

“Sure. Whatever I can do. How far back?”

She would bet money this Sonny guy had not just appeared. He either frequented Red’s or had taken several tours and gotten to know the guides until he’d found the one he wanted. “Take it back a month.”

“That’s a long time. It’s going to mean at least a thousand tickets.”

“Thanks.” She handed him her card. “The sooner the better.”

Sonny knew from his surveillance operations that in the late afternoons the residents of Melina’s Nashville town house complex had not arrived home just yet. They were packing up at their downtown offices and getting ready to call it a day. For the next hour or so, the parking lot would be fairly free of traffic.

He was dressed in a maintenance uniform that mimicked the crew who serviced the building. His shirt and pants were not an exact match but close enough to convince anyone he belonged there.

He touched his ball cap and crossed the lot. As he approached her door, a cat meowed from the bushes. He did not like cats. They creeped him out, the way they were always lurking around.

He knocked on the door, and when he heard no answer, reached for the pick set and worked the instruments into the lock for several seconds before the lock and dead bolt clicked open. He quickly pocketed the set and, grabbing his toolbox, hurried inside.

“Maintenance,” he shouted.

No answer came, but he still moved cautiously, peeking into the living room and beyond it to the galley kitchen. He moved up the stairs to the second floor. There were two bedrooms on this floor. One housed two road bikes and some camping gear and served as a makeshift storage room. Steps away was the second room.

He set his toolbox down and crossed to Melina’s unmade bed. He raised her crumpled pillow to his nose and inhaled the faint scent of jasmine shampoo. It was a nice soft scent that he never would have put with a woman like her.

Carefully, he replaced the pillow exactly where he had found it. He knew she was the type of woman who noticed the small details.

He was the same. They shared the same quirks and mannerisms. So much alike. So much shared past.

Crossing the standard beige carpet, he lifted his toolbox and headed down the stairs to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She kept a small bottle of milk, a carton of eggs, and a few apples. The pantry was filled with a few staples, including a dozen cans of tuna fish.

When he closed the door, his gaze was drawn to a picture of Melina taken with an older man and woman. She called them Mom and Dad, but they were not her real parents or family. He was her family. He snapped a picture of the image. He took a video of the entire residence.

He had been keeping tabs on her for years, but this was the first time he had stepped into her space. Not wanting to intrude was important to him. But until Bonnie left town, it was best he kept a closer eye on his kid sister.

He sat down on the leather couch, glanced over the article in the open Forensic Magazine and then toward the television. A click of the remote brought up a home decorating channel.

She was not any more interested in picking up a paintbrush or making curtains than he was, but images of cozy homes comforted her. He was exactly the same. Stress always sent him into furniture stores, where he wandered from room to room, imagining what each piece would look like in that nice cozy home he was building just for the two of them.

He leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes, and smoothed his fingers over the plush leather. They had been apart for too long, and it was time their family reunited. Only then would he feel whole.

The complication now was Bonnie. So far, she was keeping her mouth shut and had not told the cops about the jar. But he was too smart to believe that Bonnie was finished with him. She had said she wanted to help him and to make things right. He did not believe her. She would never leave until she had what she wanted.

Bonnie was also enjoying jerking him around. She had always gotten a kick out of hearing him say he needed her right before she took off. A part of him still wanted her to stay. Still savored the way she kissed his cheek when he had been good. And a part of him wanted to be a family again.

Sonny cursed. He knew women like her broke men’s hearts for sport. And he was finally smart enough not to let it happen again. He should have killed her when he had the chance, but the kid had stopped him. He did not know where Bonnie had found the girl but damned if she was not a carbon copy of Melina.

“Fuck you, Bonnie,” he muttered. “You’re not going to play me.”

This time would be different. He was in control.

He drew in a breath, smoothing his hand over the sofa’s creased, worn leather. He shifted his thoughts back to Melina. His sister. His blood.

This is where Melina sat when she was home. He imagined for a moment what it would be like to sit beside her like he used to.

The sense of peace was fleeting. Because, as always, images of Bonnie crept back into the dream. Bonnie had ruined everything in his life he had loved, and this time it would be different.

Pushing to his feet, he removed a small camera from his toolbox. Carefully, he crossed to an air vent in the wall, unfastened the screws, detached the grate, and placed the camera just inside. He checked his phone to make sure the camera was transmitting and, when he confirmed it, replaced the covering. Taking an extra moment, he wiped up the few specks of dust that had fallen out and scooped the particles up and dropped them into his box.

Standing at the threshold and looking back, he inhaled, drinking in her scent one last time, and then closed the door behind him. The cat was gone. The curtains in the unit next door were still, and there was no activity in the parking lot.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he strode toward his car. For the first time in years, he did not feel lonely.

Bonnie tugged her sheer blouse over her black bra and glanced over her shoulder at Ralph. He lay on the motel bed, as naked as the day he was born and passed out cold.