“Caffeine isn’t good for teens, Bernadette; you’re not done growing.”

I just stare at her.

“Uh,” I start, trying to figure out how to explain myself without coming off as a raging cunt. “I once got locked in a dark closet for a week with a bucket, some bottled water, and some granola bars. I’m not sure that I give a shit about the effects of caffeine on my growing brain.”

Sara just stares back at me, and this chasm looms between us, one that shows me exactly how difficult it’s going to be for me to connect with her. She likes inspirational signs and thinks coffee is unhealthy for growing kids, and I shot Billie Charter in the shoulder during a drive-by on Monday.

Hmm.

“Is that something you want to talk about?” she asks, dropping the whole coffee-convo and starting a pot without further prompting. I notice she buys Starbucks beans, and I frown even harder. Please. The coffee in South Prescott is next level; no corporately owned coffee place could ever compete.

“Not really,” I respond, trying to keep my lies to a minimum. My eyes rove around the cute, little kitchen with its Joanna Gaines influence and over to an exterior door that leads onto a small deck. Since there are no trees, all I can see are the sides of the neighbor’s houses, all of them in pastel colors. I turn back to Sara, itching to ask why she thought to start following us around. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to know she was there or not, and I won’t reveal my hand so easily. “Mostly, I was hoping you’d have some good news about the Thing?”

“The Thing?” Sara echoes, pouring us each a mug of steaming coffee.

My cup says Good Things Come to Those Who Wait on the side of it. I look at it instead of Sara as I respond, uncomfortable as fuck in the hideous yellow dress Oscar made me wear. The look of sheer triumph on his face when he handed it to me made me want to strangle him again. Or let him strangle you, you perv.

I sip the coffee black and Sara goes completely still, freezing with her container of Candy Cane creamer poised over her cup.

“You drink it black?” she asks, clearly surprised.

“You drink it filled with a chemically composed sugar syrup?” I retort back, and she sets the container down.

“What does ‘the Thing’ mean, Bernadette?” she asks, and I notice that she’s been careful to only call me Bernadette after I corrected Constantine about saying Bernie.

“Sorry, Neil,” I correct, taking another sip of coffee. “He isn’t worthy of a name, in my opinion. But then, I’m sure you think of him differently.”

This time, it’s Sara’s turn to just stare back at me, like she’s trying to test my mettle.

“Your stepfather is … a complex man,” she tells me, like she’s trying to be careful with her words. Sara sets her mug down—it’s covered in sparkly butterflies, gag—and sighs heavily. “Look, Bernadette, I want to tell you something, assuming you’re mature enough to handle it.”

Oh, here we go. She’s trying to play the tough savior role with me. It’s beyond annoying. Sure, Sara Young is nice enough, but she doesn’t understand me or anything about my life.

“Hit me with your best shot,” I say, my lips twitching as I remember listening to Pat Benatar in the Ferrari with Hael. Those memories just make me hot and sweaty, and I really don’t want to deal with wet panties right now. Must sip coffee. “Let me guess: you were fucking him too?”

Sara rears back like she’s been punched in the gut.

“He’s married to your mother,” she hisses, clearly furious. It’s obvious from her expression that it’s not that she doesn’t believe Neil would cheat, just that she, herself would never sleep with a married guy. I shrug, and Sara exhales sharply. I’m wearing her patience thin. “Honey, he told me that if anything were to happen to him, that it would be you who did it.”

I pause then, the coffee mug held tight between my tattooed hands. My nails are matte black right now, with coffin tips. I got one of Stacy Langford’s girls to do them on Friday before I … met Cal at his studio. Before he fucked me into the old warehouse floors with his lean dancer’s body, his muscles sweaty beneath my hands, his scars rough but intriguing.

Jesus.

I am not following this Do Not Soak Your Panties rule very well.

“He told you …” I start, and then I set my mug down and just start laughing. Oh, Neil, you fucker. One last hurrah from the grave, huh?

He just couldn’t die in peace, could he? Swear to god, I feel his evil spirit clinging to my shoulders and digging obsidian-tipped claws into my skin. “You will never be free of me, Bernadette; I will haunt you until the day you die like a dog in the gutter.”

For the same reason that Neil would not kill himself with the knife Aaron gave him, he also just couldn’t transition into the depths of hell without leaving a few choice nuggets of bullshit behind for me to deal with.

“What a delusional nut,” I murmur when I finally get control of myself. This time, I don’t look at Sara, staring instead at a brown and cream Siamese cat that’s sitting nearby and staring at us. The cat looks pissed to be honest, tail flicking violently. It reminds me of Oscar. Another sip of coffee. “I plead not guilty to all charges.”

“Bernadette, I’m trying to help here,” Sara says as I glance back at her. She’s wearing this very pale pink lip gloss that looks like it belongs in the nineties. “I know you didn’t hurt your stepfather, but you’re not a lone wolf, now are you?”

I let out a little howl and grin.

“Cry 'Havoc!,'” I murmur, realizing that she must’ve heard the howling in the halls during the last week. I’ve started a trend. Look at me go. “Is that what you’re suggesting? That my husband or one of my boyfriends might’ve had something to do with Neil’s disappearance?”

“One of your boyfriends?” Sara asks, like the terminology is confusing her. I should’ve said, one of my boyfriends or Oscar Montauk because he still doesn’t act like he wants anything to do with me outside of strict business transactions. “Boy … friends. Got it. Male friends.”

“No, no, like boys you have sex with and spend time with and—if you’re into this kind of thing—hope to make babies for at some point.” I finish my coffee and pass the mug back. I know I’m being a snarky, little shit, but I can’t help it. I don’t have a mom to trade verbal quips with, no girlfriends. It’s fun, hanging out with another woman once in a while. The energy’s different. “Anyway, they didn’t do anything; they wouldn’t.”

Sara sighs and taps her French manicured nails on the counter. They’re cut short, but they’re clearly recently done.

“Look, I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” Sara starts, and the shift in her tone causes me to freeze up. She’s staring right at me, her blue eyes much lighter than Callum’s, almost too pale for my liking. “I’m not saying you didn’t have reason to want Neil hurt or dead. I’m telling you that I believe you, Bernadette. I wasn’t your stepfather’s partner for long, but there were things that he did that just made me wonder if he was in law enforcement for the right reasons.”