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her troubled mind, Emma heard footsteps on the stairs. She hurriedly stuffed the money under the mattress.
    Someone pounded on the door. “Emma!” It was Mickey.
    “Come on in,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed.
    Mickey pushed open the door and closed it carefully behind him. When he turned back toward Emma, his face was taut with worry. “Emma,” he said. “The police was just here, looking for you.”
    Emma’s heart sank. “Looking for me?”
    Mickey nodded. He crossed the room and gripped Emma’s hands. “They said Sonny Lee’s dead. Did you know that, honey?”
    Emma looked up into Mickey’s kind face, and her control crumbled. “I—I f-found him in the shop, on the floor. I guess he fell, and hit his head.” Then she let go and cried, big, heaving sobs that shook her whole body.
    “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Mickey said, enfolding her in his meaty arms. “What a world this is. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I just—I was afraid I’d have to talk to the cops, and be sent to foster care,” she said. “I just—I felt like if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t really be true.”
    “They said you called it in, but you left before they got there.”
    Emma nodded against Mickey’s broad chest. “Sonny Lee—he was still alive when I got there. But . . . then he died.”
    “That’s all right,” Mickey said, stroking her hair. “That’s all right, honey. At least you got to see him before he went. The thing is—you can’t hide in Memphis. It ain’t that big a town. Everybody knows Sonny Lee, and most everybody knows you. You should go to the police. Otherwise, they’ll keep looking until they find you.”
    Emma stiffened and pulled away, panic rising within her. “Me? They think I had something to do with Sonny Lee’s death?” She searched Mickey’s face.
    “No, of course not,” Mickey said. “It’s just . . . you have been a handful. Plus they have to try to keep you safe. It’s the law.”
    “No,” Emma said. “I’m only sixteen, and I have nobody. You know they’ll put me in foster care until I’m eighteen, even if they don’t put me in jail.” She hesitated. “You know, Mickey, I was hoping . . .” She stopped talking when she saw the no in Mickey’s eyes.
    “You got to go to the police,” Mickey said. “If you stay here, they’ll find you—they already been here once. It would be better to turn yourself in and answer a few questions, show Sthem you had nothing to do with it. And they’ll make sure you get taken care of, till you finish school.”
    Emma would have kept arguing, but she could tell it wouldn’t do any good. Mickey was right: they would find her, sooner or later, if she stayed in Memphis. If they found her staying with him on the down-low, he might lose his liquor license.
    “You know, Mickey, I just remembered. There is someone I can call,” Emma said. “Let me sleep on it and maybe we can figure something out in the morning.”
    “All right, Memphis.” Mickey hesitated. She knew he didn’t quite believe her, but also didn’t want to deal with not believing her. “Good night, then. You need anything?”
    Emma shook her head. “I’m fine,” she lied.
    After Mickey clomped back downstairs, Emma stuffed the money back into the envelope. Before she could chicken out, she pulled out the note Sonny Lee had left for her and punched the telephone number into her cell phone.
    It rang, several times, and just when Emma thought the call would go to voice mail, a man answered in a gruff voice. “Boykin.”
    Her heart did a flip-flop. “Are you Tyler Boykin?”
    “Now, what’d I just say?” After a pause, he added suspiciously, “Who is this?”
    “My name’s Emma Greenwood,” Emma said. “My grandfather, Sonny Lee Greenwood, said I should call you.”
    Tyler Boykin was quiet so long Emma thought maybe he’d hung up.
    “You still there?” she said, her fingers sweaty on the phone.
    “Emma Claire