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thoughts.
    Fierce winds drove a swirl of snow into the car as soon as they opened the doors. Zoe pulled her collar closer around her neck and flipped the oversized hood over her head until they stepped onto the porch.
    Pete held out an arm, directing her behind him. With his right hand resting on his sidearm, he pounded on the door with his left.
    She listened for movement—footsteps indicating someone was home. All the time she’d been examining Ted’s body, it had never occurred to her that he might not be the only victim. Had someone killed the entire Bassi family? Had Ted been trying to get help?
    Pete banged on the door again. “Rose,” he called. “It’s Pete Adams. Open up. I need to talk to you.”
    This time a light flicked on behind the closed curtains followed by the thump-thump of feet on the floor. Zoe’s knees went weak with relief.
    The blinds on the door’s window parted and an eyeball appeared between them. Then the deadbolt creaked and clicked and the door was yanked open.
    Instead of Rose, a bleary-eyed Logan stood before them in flannel pajama bottoms that threatened to drop off his narrow hips.
    He rubbed his eyes like a child. “What’s going on?”
    “May we come in?” Pete said.
    “Yeah. Sure. I guess.” He unlatched the storm door and stepped back.
    Zoe followed Pete into what she’d always thought of as a cheery kitchen. “Logan, where’s your mom?”
    The boy sniffed as if he had a cold. “Mom? I guess she’s still over at grandma’s. Why?”
    “Sylvia’s?” Pete asked. She lived two doors over, but spent most of her waking time right here.
    “No. My other grandma. Mom’s mom. Grandma Bert. She’s got the flu, so Mom’s spending the night over there. Do you want me to get my dad?”
    Zoe and Pete exchanged looks.
    Logan sniffed again and glanced around the kitchen before grabbing a paper napkin from the table. “He must be sleeping. I waited for him to get the door when you knocked, but…”
    “No,” Zoe said as the boy turned toward the hall. Then she winced. She’d heard the anguish in her own voice and knew from the look on Logan’s face that he’d heard it, too.
    Pete caught her arm. “Go back out to my car and call Rose,” he said into Zoe’s ear. “Tell her she’s needed at home.” He drew away enough to meet her eye.
    Zoe understood the intense gaze, the unspoken request. Try not to alarm. “Okay.”
    “Good.” He turned to Logan, his tone professional. “Let’s make some coffee while we wait for your mom to get home.”
    The kid was buying none of it. “What’s going on?”
    As Zoe stepped outside, she heard Pete’s soothing voice calming the boy without using words like everything’s all right . It wasn’t.
    She climbed back into the SUV and tugged off her gloves to fish her cell phone out of her pocket. It took a moment for her trembling fingers to locate Mrs. Bertolotti’s number in her cell’s address book.
    On the fourth ring, Rose picked up with a sleep-fogged, “Hello?”
    Words jammed in Zoe’s throat, leaving her choking for the right ones.
    “Hello?” Rose said again. “Is anyone there?”
    “It’s me,” Zoe said, her voice raspy.
    The fog was gone. “What’s wrong?”
    “I—I can’t say on the phone. You need to get home. Now.”
    “Oh my God. Is it Logan?”
    Zoe considered saying no, Logan’s fine. But in her mind she played out the rest of the conversation. Rose would ask about Allison. And then Ted. “Just come home.” Zoe hung up before her friend had a chance to ask anything else. Try not to alarm . Well, she’d seriously failed at that one.
    Now what? Should she stay in Pete’s vehicle and wait for Rose? Or should she go inside and try to avoid a teenaged boy’s inquisition? She could see Pete through the kitchen window. Filling the coffee pot from the sink, she presumed. Calm. Professional. In control. A shadow swept behind him. Logan. Pete would be giving him tasks to do to keep him occupied.
    If she