“I’m not driving.”

Before Thorin could reply, Val drew me away. “I got it under control. She’ll be safe as houses.”

“Safe as what?” I said as Val turned me toward the door.

Val ignored my question and lowered his voice when he said, “Watch yourself with him, Solina.”

On the way home, Val spoke little and mumbled monosyllabic replies to my attempts at conversation. The others either didn’t notice or chose to ignore his peculiar mood. I said nothing about it until Val delivered me to Mani’s front door and issued a tersely worded goodbye. I slid my key in the deadbolt, clicked the lock open, and turned to confront him. “What got stuck in your craw?”

“Excuse me?” Val said with faint amusement.

“You barely said a word all the way here. Is it something I did?”

Val turned grim. “I’m serious about Thorin. He’ll eat you up. Women are his favorite snack food. You should keep your distance.”

“He’s condescending and aloof. I don’t think that will be difficult.”

Val studied my face for a moment, possibly checking for sincerity, then he leaned in, forcing me to tilt back to keep eye contact. “I’m sorry. I’m just protective by nature.”

I patted around behind my back, found the doorknob, and twisted it. The door clicked open, distracting Val long enough for me to pull away. I backed into the doorway. “Who’s going to eat me up?” I asked. My heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a chimney. A confusing swirl of emotions flooded me. Whatever attraction I felt for Val was muddled with uncertainty and apprehension. “The only big bad wolf I see around here is you.”

Val ducked his head and put his hands out at his side, a gesture of placation. He backed away, and I thought that would be the end of it. But as he spun on his heel, heading for the truck, Val threw one last comment over his shoulder. “If I ever nibbled on you, Solina, I can assure you that you would like it.”

I closed the apartment door, turned the lock, and pressed my cheek and forehead against the cool wooden surface. When Mani died, half of me died with him. He had been my key to experiencing the world, a sort of virtual reality. I was safe and comfortable living that way. No risks, but no real benefits either. To honor my brother’s memory, I had vowed to engage in the world, to take more chances.

Easier said than done.

Traveling across the country was like playing a couple of bucks on a slot machine—not a big gamble. Looking into my brother’s unsolved murder was blackjack—higher stakes, bigger payout if I won. Letting Val get close was championship-level poker with a buy-in I wasn’t sure I could afford. The risk would be monumental, and the loss, if I placed the wrong bet, would be devastating.

Chapter Four

After another morning of sorting through Mani’s things, I cursed myself for ever thinking I was up to the task. If I was more coldhearted and less sentimental, I could light a metaphorical match, brush my hands, and walk away. Instead I crated photos and electronics, stacked books and journals in another box, and started a pile for charity donations. No matter how much I hated to leave anything behind, I could not justify shipping Mani’s sofa and recliner back to North Carolina. And, honestly, it was a really ugly recliner, plaid and patched with duct tape. Maybe some things I minded disposing of less than others.

I was working on stuffing a trash bag full of towels and linens when someone knocked on Mani’s door. I was in no mood for distractions, but curiosity won out. A slight-figured girl in square-rimmed glasses and tiny, meticulously woven braids greeted me at the door. She held some kind of tool I didn’t recognize. I pushed a sweaty tendril of hair off my cheek and said, “Can I help you?”

“I hate to bother you,” she said, “but I borrowed this laser level from Mani a while back. I never got around to returning it.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Better late than never, I guess.”

“You might as well keep it,” I said, smiling. “I’m trying to get rid of his things. Lord knows I don’t need to collect any more.”

Her eyes widened, and a hesitant smile tugged at her lips. “Oh, well, then…”

“You and Mani were friends?”

She looked away, batting her lashes. She fiddled with a button on the tool she had brought me. Her unease gave away her answer to my question. No way had Mani ever ignored a chance to introduce himself to a cute girl. “He was gone a lot,” she said, “for his job, but we hung out some when he was home.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. I’m Solina, Mani’s sister.”

She smiled and fluttered her lashes again. “Oh, sorry, I’m Tanisha Hemmings—Nisha. But I know who you are. Mani kept pictures of you everywhere. I thought you were his girlfriend for a long time. He said you were twins, but…” She shrugged and looked at her feet. “You two don’t look anything alike.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” I said.

Nisha rocked on her feet as if anxious to make her getaway. Maybe I made the poor girl nervous. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—”

I cut her off before she made me feel like a complete social ogre. “It’s nice to meet anyone who knew Mani. It’s good to know he had friends.”

Nisha relaxed. “I know I can’t really understand how you must feel, but Mani was a great guy and I’ll miss him. Please tell me if I can help in any way.”

“I think I’m okay for now, but I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“Well, I live downstairs, directly under Mani’s apartment. Knock if you need me. I can show you where the consignment shop is, if you want to drop off some things or whatever.”

“You lived under Mani? Did the police talk to you?” So much for social graces.

Nisha’s posture turned wary again. “Yes. They talked to everyone in this building. Lot of good it did them.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them I didn’t know anything. It’s the truth.” Nisha’s eyes went misty, and she furrowed her brow. “I wasn’t home that night. I was at the bar, working late. I came home to a parking lot full of cop cars. If I had been here, though, maybe I would have been able to do something. Call the cops… something.”

I reached out to her. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t do that. You can’t blame yourself. It doesn’t do any good. I should know. I’m an expert at it.”

Nisha left after that, probably sensing I had things to do other than wallow in sad memories with a stranger. Nisha had said she’d come home to a parking lot full of police, so she really didn’t need to blame herself about not being the one to call the cops. Someone else did that in her place. A concerned neighbor thought he was reporting a domestic dispute.

Thinking of the police reminded me of another matter I had put off long enough. I slipped my phone from my pocket and pulled up the contact number for Emmett Vanderleigh, the lead—and pretty much only—detective on Mani’s case. Siqiniq was a small town, and the police department was a slightly more sophisticated version of Mayberry’s Andy Taylor and Barney Fife.

Vanderleigh had called me and my parents throughout the past four months, first to break the bad news and then to keep us up to date on the progress—or lack thereof—of his investigation. He had been pleasant, kind, and respectful, always offering to be available when we had questions or concerns. I hoped he’d meant it, because I was about to take him up on his offer.

“Miss Mundy, it’s a pleasure to meet you face to face,” Detective Vanderleigh said. He had proposed we meet somewhere neutral, a coffee shop or a restaurant, but I wanted to look at Mani’s police files, so Vanderleigh cleared a space for me in his office. “I’d say you were lucky I had some downtime in my schedule today, but Siqiniq is a pretty quiet town. I tend to have a lot of downtime compared to Anchorage.”

“Well, I appreciate your making time to meet me anyway,” I said and shook Vanderleigh’s hand. He settled into his worn chair and motioned for me to take a visitor’s chair on the other side of his desk.

“You had no trouble finding the station?”

I smiled. “I have GPS on my phone.”

Vanderleigh glanced out his office window, which faced the parking lot. “That your brother’s 4Runner?”

My eyebrows arched. “How’d you know?”

He chuckled. “My son has one just like it. The love of his life. I remember thinking, when we looked through your brother’s SUV, that he must have loved it a lot too. He took real good care of it.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Didn’t give you any trouble starting? Sometimes those old trucks don’t deal well with sitting for a long time.”