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appropriate. Her eyes are bloodshot and her words are a bit slurred. I’m offended for Diana’s sake. A mother should be strong for her daughter at a time like this, right?
    We have to be strong today, Ben. It’s what Mother would have wanted.
    Well, maybe I’m being too judgmental. Everyone grieves differently.
    “I don’t remember ever hearing your name,” Bonnie tells me.
    “Right, your husband mentioned.”
    Next up, brother Randy. Diana had a weakness for the kid. He had a rough patch in his early twenties. He’s supposedly interning now at a local TV news station in the sports department, though as I look at him—short, rough complexion, small, liquid eyes, hair in all directions—I see that he has a face for radio.
    “She talked about you all the time,” I say, which is a stretch. “All good.”
    “I doubt that.”
    I almost laugh. “It’s a very nice visitation.”
    “Wake,” he says.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “It’s a wake. We’re Catholic. We call it a wake.”
    Well, then. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
    His eyes narrow. “You knew her how?”
    “We were friends.”
    “Good friends?”
    I think of many ways to answer that but just say, “Yeah.”
    “Hmph.” He nods slowly. “Well, if you were good friends with her, Mike—”
    Ben. My name’s Ben.
    “—then maybe you can tell me why she would kill herself.”
    Another one I could answer many ways. What does he expect me to say? How about, Murder can be made to look like suicide, and suicide can be made to look like murder . I opt for respectful silence instead.
    “So maybe not such a good friend.” He dismisses me with a pat on the arm. “Thanks for coming, Mike.”
    I don’t say anything in response, though I’d like to. This guy just lost his sister, so he gets a long rope.
    So! That was the family. Can’t imagine why Diana didn’t like coming back home.
    The fortyish woman in the stylish black suit is still loitering at the other end of the room. She looks up every time someone new enters the parlor and studies him or her a moment. She finally catches on that I’m watching her, but she still won’t lock eyes with me.
    Detective LaTaglia did the same thing at Mother’s visitation. Except she didn’t watch the other people entering and exiting the funeral home in Rockville, Maryland. She didn’t even watch my father.
    She watched only me.
    You’re a strong little boy, Benjamin. Eight years old and all grown up! Your mother would be proud.
    She loved you a lot, didn’t she?
    You loved her, too, right?
    “They’re grieving.”
    I spin around. It’s Emma again, the possibly pregnant high school friend. She likes to sneak up on me.
    “The family,” she says. “Especially Randy. He can be nice, believe it or not. But it’s gotta be tough for him right now.”
    It must be tough, Ben . Not being able to give your mother a proper Christian burial. They say your soul doesn’t go to heaven until your body is buried.
    “Yeah,” I tell Emma. “It must be tough.”
    But here’s the thing, Ben. We can’t let your mother be buried until we figure out what happened to her.
    Do you know what happened to her, Ben? I kinda think you do.
    Emma smiles at me, subdued for the occasion. “A bunch of people are getting together later,” she says. “Someone rented a room at Jack’s. If you want to stop by?”
    I glance back at black-suit lady. For the moment, at least, she is gone.
    “I just might do that,” I tell Emma.

Chapter 14
    Jack’s Pub is an off-campus bar populated by grown-ups and students from UW who have decided they’re too mature to be hanging out at a campus bar. They would be the outcasts, the rebels, the ones who didn’t go Greek, didn’t play a sport, didn’t join the student council or any of the clubs, who lived off campus and made the decision to rebel before they knew what it was they were rebelling against.
    They would be me.
    Someone rented the back room so we could celebrate the life of Diana