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up dead in an alley?
    Lei felt a little sick as she stood in front of the casket, looking down at the woman who’d befriended her when she’d first arrived in Detroit. She was the one who’d told her which girls to avoid and which to trust. She was the one who’d talked her through one of the lowest days of her life.
    Dead.
    When she turned around, the woman in the front row was looking directly at her. Lei took a seat beside her, hands folded in her lap.
    The woman placed one heavily wrinkled hand on hers. “Thank you for coming.”
    At a total loss as to what to say, Lei simply nodded.
    â€œMy granddaughter didn’t have many friends. I appreciate your being here.”
    â€œShe was a good person,” Lei said.
    â€œYes, she was. If only she had learned to make better choices. If she had, she might be alive today.” The woman’s voice wavered.
    â€œI’m very sorry.”
    Neither Lei nor the woman said anything for several minutes. Lei didn’t have the heart to ask any questions. This was not the time or place. The best she could do was hang around the funeral home and see who else, if anyone, showed up.
    And so she did.
    She sat with Eve’s grandmother, Irene, for a couple of hours, went and bought some lunch for them both, and brought it back. As they ate submarine sandwiches and chips, Irene told her stories about the girl she called Evelyn. About how she’d dreamed of being a ballerina when she was eight, after going to see a local production of The Nutcracker. About getting the lead in her high-school musical her freshman year. About the mural she’d painted in her high school and the award she’d received for it. And about the eventual plummet into addiction that led to her becoming what Lei had known she was but Irene was too embarrassed to admit.
    Lei had known there was something special about Eve from the first moment she’d met her, but she hadn’t realized how special she was. Or what might have been if she hadn’t become addicted to heroin.
    She wasn’t sure what saddened her more: Eve’s death or the loss of all that potential.
    If only. If . . . only.
    After lunch, Lei sat with Irene in that front row for another hour before she became too antsy to sit any longer. Feeling like she was wasting her time, but unable to convince herself to leave, she resorted to strolling around the property. The building was a gorgeous Victorian house converted into a funeral home. It was positioned on a main street cutting through a quaint little town on a wide lot. Outside, just beyond the parking lot, there was a small garden with a fountain. It was peaceful. Pretty. Even at this time of year when the shrubbery was bare, the flowers long gone. She sat on a concrete bench at the far end of the garden. From her position, she could watch the parking lot, see who was coming and going.
    About one hour before Eve’s showing was scheduled to end, Lei watched a car pull into the lot. It was silver. A man who looked very familiar came out of it and strolled around to the front of the building.
    Curious, and wracking her brain, trying to remember where she’d seen that man before— if she’d seen that man before—she followed at a distance.
    He went in, looked at the sign in the entryway, started toward room C, halted at the door, lifted a hand, and a moment later did a one-eighty before Lei could duck out of sight. His gaze snapped to hers, and a tense moment passed. He said, “A message for you.” A second later, he charged past her, slamming through the front door.
    â€œWhat message?” Lei stood frozen for a moment, then scurried out after him. She caught his car skidding out onto the road. As it zoomed past her, she squinted to read the license plate. All she caught were the letters WVM.
    Confused, and still unable to remember where she’d seen the man before, she wandered back inside room C. Thinking