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SeCa and its authoritative brand of “enlightened social engineering” meant that murder had no place here. Accidents, yes; manslaughter, sometimes yes; but premeditated and cold-blooded murder? It just didn’t happen.
    He wanted to hold her, but her stiff posture told him that she would back away if he tried.
    Victor massaged his temples. “This feeling . . . it’s so strong .”
    “It’ll pass.”
    “You won’t tell, will you?” he said.
    Elena put one hand on his shoulder. “He died of heart failure.”
    Victor blurted, “What about the blotches on his face? And his hair. He looks sick .”
    “He was sick.”
    Victor moved away. “No! The last time I saw him — it was only a few months ago, and he was perfectly healthy.” As soon as he said it, he realized it wasn’t true. Granfa Jeff had been short of breath. He’d leaned against the front entrance of the hospital and looked fatigued.
    Elena scrunched her brow and frowned. “Maybe you feel guilty. You cut yourself off from people when you’re angry or hurt. It’s a pattern with you. Like your obsession with the number two.”
    Victor jammed the toe of his shoe into the grass, and it came away with a small clump of foamy dirt on its tip. He said, “Two is the best. It’s the only even prime number.”
    She said, “You seem different. How long have you been like this?”
    He could feel her scrutinizing his face. “I’m fine,” he said.
    “Horse balls,” she said. “You’re about to pop.”
    Victor gulped.
    Elena wrapped her arms around him.
    He tensed, realizing he’d read her emotions incorrectly. She must still care for him, despite his bad behavior.
    Her gauzy black blouse felt loose, like a snake skin ready to be shed. Their cheeks pressed together, and a warm comforting flush bloomed and moved down his chest, down his arms, along the length of his body to his toes.
    “Thank you, Elena. You always calm me down.”
    She let him go. “I’m glad to be good for something,” she said.
    “Why’d you come back?” Victor asked.
    “I heard about your granfa. I know how important he was to you. I thought that my being here might help. If we can be friends again, we can look after each other.” Elena pressed the fingers of one hand through his hair. “It’s not easy being alone.”
    Her words were soothing, but for some reason Victor’s mouth turned sour. Why was she being so nice to him? He hadn’t returned her calls and messages since she’d moved away. She had every right to hate him.
    Victor saw Granma Cynthia emerge from the mausoleum.
    “Victor?” Elena said. She was watching him carefully.
    “She spent the most time with him,” he replied. “I have to ask her why he looks so strange.”
    Elena glanced over her shoulder and spotted the old woman. She whipped her gaze back to Victor. “No, you’re not thinking straight. Let it pass.”
    “She must know something.”
    “Don’t do this.”
    Granma Cynthia trudged to a nearby iron rail fence. A black scarf covered her hair. A large sapphire-and-onyx brooch was affixed to her navy blue frock.
    Victor brushed past Elena and trotted toward his granma.
    “I’m going home now, Victor,” Granma Cynthia told him as he approached. “I’ll see you this afternoon. You’ll come by.”
    It was a command, not a question. Victor nodded. “Granma, we both know it wasn’t cardiac arrest, don’t we?”
    Her mouth twitched, and she gave him a harsh look. “What on earth?”
    “The way his hair fell out. And those splotches . . .”
    Granma Cynthia glared at him. “You haven’t seen him for months, and this is how you show concern? I won’t be drawn into one of your speculations .”
    Victor took a breath, then said, “I know it sounds crazy, but I know that Granfa was murdered.”

Chapter 5
    Individuals with mirror resonance syndrome cannot be identified by their facial features or by their facial expressions. This is a harmful, albeit common, misconception that