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among a handful of collected photographs of Charlotte that she’d gathered for the memorial, a soft knock at the door made her glance at the clock and wonder who was still awake at this wretched hour.
    It was Bella. She opened the door wider and allowed theteen to enter. “What’s wrong?” she asked, worry in her voice. She couldn’t help scanning the teenager’s thin frame for signs of abuse. Bella had often cut herself before she came to Iris House and Emma worried that she might turn to the destructive habit during times of extreme stress.
    Bella tightened her arms around her sides but didn’t answer right away. Although Bella knew a lot about things she never should’ve known, in many ways she was still a frightened girl who needed guidance. It was that vulnerable side that called to Emma. Her hand curled softly as she resisted pushing the errant strand of hair from the girl’s eyes. Bella didn’t like to be touched, not even with kindness. Not yet. Emma was still working on that broken aspect of the teen’s psyche with countless hours of therapy.
    Bella chewed the side of her lip, clearly wrestling with something but unsure how to coax it free from her own mouth. Emma smiled and gestured. “Why don’t you come and help me with the photos I’ve put aside for Charlotte’s memorial. I could use a second opinion.”
    Bella nodded and followed, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa to peer at the photos spread across the end table. She fingered a few, pushed aside others and finally picked one. “This is a good one,” she offered with a shrug that was a pathetic attempt at showing that she didn’t care when Emma knew for a certainty that she cared deeply. Charlotte’s death affected them differently. While Emma felt the weight of responsibility for the woman’s death, Bella likely felt true grief, which was something she was emotionally ill-equipped to handle.
    â€œI didn’t talk to that FBI agent,” she admitted in a tight, defensive voice, her gaze cutting to Emma for her reaction.
    â€œThat’s fine,” Emma said, her tone carefully neutral while she continued to sift through pictures. She already knew that,thanks to Chick. “I told you it was your choice.” She looked up briefly. “There’s no judgment, Bella.”
    Bella nodded but a small crease appeared in her smooth brow. “You’re not mad?”
    â€œOf course not. Ursula didn’t choose to speak with him, either,” she pointed out mildly, returning to the pictures. “But he seems a very nice, professional man. There’s no need to be afraid.”
    â€œI’m not afraid,” Bella scoffed with more vehemence than the declaration warranted for the situation, and Emma knew she’d hit a nerve. She remained silent and Bella seemed to sulk for a moment, dropping the photo in her hand when she realized she was crinkling it. “What if I should’ve told him something? Something that might matter to the case, you know?”
    Emma looked up, faint alarm at the teen’s hesitant admission churning the remains of the hastily eaten dinner she’d consumed hours ago. “Such as?” she asked.
    Bella shrugged, but Emma thought she saw tears sparkling in her eyes before she skewed her gaze away. “I didn’t want to say nothing because I ain’t a snitch, but now that Charlotte’s dead I figured it’s not snitching. I mean, Charlotte was always real nice to me and we had stuff in common so I didn’t want to say…”
    â€œWhat is it, Bella?” Emma prodded gently, but her palms had begun to sweat. Unease squatted in her belly at the possibilities.
    Bella looked up and this time there was no hiding the sheen of tears as she said, “Mad Johnny was making Char run drugs again. She tried not to but he caught up to her and he must’ve had something on her because she was real