“Besides the Tiffany Gorham thing, no.”

“Can you put out some feelers? This guy is getting sloppy.”

“Wait. Is this the one who makes sure the buildings are empty before starting the fires?”

“The one and only. We’ve linked him to four fires so far. Same MO, right down to the timing device and accelerant. Only this time he didn’t get everyone out. This homeless woman didn’t happen to visit you, did she?”

“No, but I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring the folder on this guy over tonight.”

“Sounds good.” He was only coming over for Cookie. He had such a crush.

“So, have you talked to your dad?”

“Oh, no, you’re breaking up. I can hardly—” I hung up before he could question me further. Dad was not open for discussion, and he knew it.

The minute we hung up, my phone rang for a third time. I answered. “Charley’s house of Cheerios.”

“Your uncle called,” Cookie said. “He has a case he wants you to look at.”

“I know,” I replied, faking disappointment. “I just got off the phone with him. He told me all about how he needed you to contact me immediately, and you refused. Told him you had better things to do. Like funnel money into offshore accounts.”

“Did you know you ordered a neck massager? This thing is great.”

“Are you getting any actual work done?”

“Oh, yes! I got the addresses you needed, but there’s not much on the brother. He’s never received a single utility bill.”

“Maybe his parents are paying his utilities, too.”

“That makes sense. I’ll check into their accounts, see what all they’re paying for. But I do have a work address on him and an address for Harper’s parents.”

“Perfect. Text them to me.”

“Now? Because this feels amazing.”

“Only if you don’t want me to file embezzlement charges against you.”

“Now it is.”

4

You can’t fix stupid,

but you can numb it with a 2 by 4.

—T-SHIRT

Having already driven across town, I’d gone from being fairly close to Harper’s parents’ house to way out in the boondocks. I pulled a uey amidst a blaring horn—mine—and headed back that way only to be blocked by another gate when I got there. One made of intricate iron surrounded by a high brick wall. I pushed a button on the speaker box.

An arrogant male voice crackled out of the speaker. “Yes?”

I must’ve been in the midst of old money. The massive expanse of mansion that loomed before me was a testament to two things: The Lowells were rich, and the Lowells liked people to know it.

When I glanced back at the speaker box, I said, “Yes, I’d like a taco with extra salsa.” When he didn’t ask if I’d like something to drink with that, I tried again. “I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Lowell.” I smiled into the video camera mounted above the box, then took out my PI license and held it up. “I’ve been hired by their daughter, Harper.”

When I received no answer, I decided to change my tack. “I just need to ask them a few questions.”

After a long moment in which I kept smiling at the dead kid in my backseat, trying not to contemplate how awkward the moment was becoming, the arrogant guy came back on.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lowell are not receiving.”

What the hell did that mean? “I’m not throwing a forty-yard pass. I just have a few questions. I think their daughter is in danger.”

“They are not accepting visitors.”

What a caring bunch. “In that case, I’ll have the police over in a few. I apologize beforehand if they come with lights flashing and sirens blaring.”

Rich people hated nothing more than scandal. I loved scandals. Especially the kinky kind with illicit affairs and CEOs photographed in heels and feather boas. But I did live in my own little world.

“You will have five minutes,” he said. He did the clenched-teeth thing much better than Ubie. I’d have to mention that next time I saw my surly uncle. Maybe he could take lessons.

After rolling up a long driveway that turned into a cobblestone entrance, I lifted Misery’s emergency brake and glanced in my rearview. “Don’t even think about going for a joy ride, buddy.”

His blank gaze didn’t flinch. He was fun.

A self-assured man who was dressed much more casually than I’d expected met me at the massive white door. The house looked more East Coast than most houses in New Mexico. Without saying a word, the man led me to what I could only assume was a drawing room, though there were no art supplies anywhere. Since I couldn’t draw, I decided to snoop. Pictures lined the walls and shelves, but there was not a single candid shot among them. Every photograph was a professional portrait, and each one had a color theme. Black. Brown. Navy blue. Four in the family: the parents, one boy, and one girl—Harper. They all had dark hair except the boy, and he didn’t particularly look like the others. I wondered if the rooster had gotten out of the henhouse. A blond rooster. The parade of portraits mapped out the development of the Lowell children, from around four or five until the kids were in their early twenties. Clearly the parents had a firm grip on their children. In one portrait, they got almost crazy and wore white.

These people were scary.

“How may I help you?”