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something—When I last saw Mike, he mentioned something about investigating a murder. The victim was a prostitute.”
    Belle was already shaking her head. “I have no idea what he could have been talking about. You must have misunderstood him, Josh. Mike was a deputy. He was a patrolman. He wasn’t a detective. He didn’t investigate murders.”
    Even while Belle was objecting, Cameron noticed Hunter sit up in his seat. At first, a questioning expression crossed his face and his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.
    For the first time since they had come into the Fontaine home, Cameron observed the young man sitting next to his mother. His face was filled with concern. His expression was one of serious contemplation.
    A wave of recognition washed over her. Where have I seen him before?
    Joshua noticed the suspicion on Hunter’s face as well.
    Royce was on his feet. “Josh, now is really not a good time to be asking Belle all of these questions. Believe me, we have been over Mike’s disappearance forward and backward and never have we ever turned up anything. Frankly, if Belle knew anything, I think she would have remembered it by now.” He ushered them to their feet and toward the door.
    “Actually,” Cameron said, “it has been my experience that families of victims often remember, or are able to piece together facts better, after some time.”
    “There’s nothing to put together. Mike had a horrible car accident. That’s all.” Royce opened the front door and gestured for them to leave.
    After the door slammed behind them, Cameron and Joshua looked at each other.
    “He seems rather insistent on Mike’s death being nothing more than an accident, don’t you think?” Joshua asked.
    “Extremely.” She let Joshua take her hand and lead her to his SUV. “Hunter knows about the dead hooker. Did you see his face?”
    “Yes, I did.” Joshua opened the door for her.
    “Why didn’t you ask him about it?” She slid into the passenger seat.
    “I don’t have to ask him,” Joshua said. “He’ll tell me … when his mom and Royce aren’t around.”

“Why did Cameron jump off a second-floor fire escape?” At the refrigerator, Donny turned around from where he was getting a drink of milk when Joshua escorted Cameron into the kitchen.
    They had finally made it home to their three-story stone house on the corner of Rock Springs Boulevard and Fifth Avenue in Chester, West Virginia.
    It seemed like Donny thought his dad wouldn’t notice him drinking straight from the milk jug if he directed his attention to Cameron’s latest stunt.
    “It was one of those cases where you had to be there.” Joshua took the jug out of his hand and put it back in the fridge.
    The sixteen-year-old boy, who at six feet and four inches was two inches taller than his father, looked down at Cameron who had slipped into the first chair she encountered in the country kitchen.
    “Okay,” she said, “I admit it was a little foolish to jump off a second-floor fire escape—”
    “A little?” Donny laughed.
    “But when it comes to catching bad guys,” she said, “we tend to be so focused on how dangerous it will be for the next guy our perp runs into that we don’t notice from how high up we’re jumping.” She didn’t want to confess to how tired she had become during the drive to the park, time on the lake, and the visit to the Fontaine home.
    Sensing that his mistress had had a rough day, Irving, Cameron’s Maine Coon cat, leapt into her lap and rubbed his face against her chin.
    Cameron had inherited five grown children from Joshua’s first marriage, as well as Admiral, a Great Dane-Irish Wolfhound mix. Joshua had inherited Irving, a twenty-five pound Maine Coon cat who prompted screams from the neighbors. The long-haired cat was black with a white stripe from the top of his head down to the tip of his tail. At first glance, he was identical to an oversized skunk. Even though everyone on the street knew about Irving, there