I also noticed she didn’t ask about the Sampsons, and I knew why. About ten years ago, Mr. Sampson decided to have a neighborhood party and didn’t invite Mrs. Thurman. The grudge had lasted an entire decade with no signs of fading. Her dedication to it made me smile to myself. It was good to know some things in the old neighborhood hadn’t changed.

“They’ve been going through that pile of brick piece by piece. I’ve been watching them for days, and I can’t see that they’ve found a single useful thing. Sure, they’ve put stuff in baggies like it meant something, but it looks like a whole lot of nothing. No one lit up and jumped around like they’d found the answer they’re looking for.”

And that was why I started with Mrs. Thurman. She was the stereotypical nosy neighbor with nothing but time on her hands to people-watch from her window. It drove my mom nuts, but I hoped it would turn out to be my saving grace.

“Have the police been by to talk to you?”

She harrumphed. “They sent a wet-behind-the-ears kid in a uniform who wasn’t even old enough to be my grandson. He didn’t even ask me about my day before he started in on the questions. Beyond rude.”

“So you didn’t have anything to tell him?”

She smiled, looking awfully proud of herself. “I had plenty I could’ve told him, but I decided I’d wait until they sent someone who would treat me with a little respect.”

And that’s when things got interesting.

Apparently, for months now my dad had been heading out within minutes of my mom leaving the house every day. Mrs. Thurman didn’t want to speculate on what he was doing, but she said he was constantly looking around like he suspected he was being watched. When she’d tried to confront him about it, he’d blown her off, so she’d decided to keep it to herself but hadn’t stopped watching. My folks had also had several unusual repair people, or so she assumed, because an unmarked white van had been parked on the street in front of the house a few times over the last couple of weeks.

I took down notes in my phone, wishing I could ask my dad what the hell had been going on. If I knew my father, which I’d been questioning for a while, he wouldn’t have involved my mother in anything, so asking her would be a dead end.

After I ate the stale cookies Mrs. Thurman offered and drank her lukewarm coffee, I left with more questions than answers.

What the hell were you doing, Dad?

I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing other neighbors, none of whom were as helpful or as observant as Mrs. Thurman. However, all of them were nosy and not afraid to pry into my life. I finally left the neighborhood that held all my childhood memories around six o’clock and returned to my hotel to order a crappy room-service dinner.

If I’d jumped on that offer Heath had made, I could be at Ari’s right now. Why the hell hadn’t I?

After an hour of staring at the blank notepad that was supposed to contain all my brilliant theories about what had happened with my dad, I’d had enough. I needed to get out of this room before I lost my damned mind.

Heath must have had a sixth sense, because my phone lit up with his name on the screen. After a year of not answering calls, it was strange not to ignore them.

“What’s going on, Heath?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I got into it with Ari tonight. She stormed out of here pissed off, and if I go track her down, she’s going to be even more pissed.”

As soon as he said her name, all my senses kicked into overdrive. “What happened?”

“I had a cop buddy of mine out in Cali keeping an eye on her boyfriend, and, well . . . he sent me pictures this morning that were damning. I showed her today after we got Dad home from lunch, and I’m a little worried that she’s gonna do something stupid.”

The fucking boyfriend. He had to go. Now more than ever, because Ari wasn’t his anymore. Not if I had a damned thing to say about it.

But Heath didn’t know I’d staked a claim on his sister, and that discussion wasn’t happening over the phone. That would make me a spineless dick.

“What kind of pictures?” It was more of a demand than a question.

“The kind where he’s wrapped around another woman, buck-ass naked.”

Dammit . . . the kind of pictures I’d delivered to more than one spouse after catching someone cheating. The aftermath was never pretty. I’d seen it all—people flying into a rage, curling up into a ball and crying, or staring out the window like their soul had been sucked out of them. I never left them alone without asking them if there was someone I could call.

“And you just let her go?”

“It’s not like I had a choice. She doesn’t listen to me. Not sure she ever did before. I would go track her down, but Dad’s riled up and I can’t leave him here alone. I need you, man.”

Did Heath know something had happened between us? What was his angle here? Either way, there was no question about whether I’d go after her.

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know. She won’t answer my calls, and I don’t like the idea of her out hitting some bar by herself.”

“You really think she’d go out?” The Ari I knew wasn’t a barfly, although she’d held her own last night.

“I know so. I got in touch with her driver, and he told me he dropped her at Molly’s an hour ago and she sent him away. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving, so he’s parked as close as he can get. But unless she asks for him to come inside and babysit her, his hands are tied. He can’t go against her orders unless there’s an immediate threat.”

Shit. Molly’s? I’d seen the way those guys had stared at her last night, and on a Friday, it had to be even more packed.

“I’ll be there in fifteen. I’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”

“I know you will. There’s no one else I’d trust with my baby sister. Thanks.”

When Heath hung up, his words echoed in my head.

“There’s no one else I’d trust with my baby sister.”

Tomorrow, I’d find out if he really meant that, because our come-to-Jesus talk was due.

I didn’t waste any time before heading out to jump in my Jeep and point it in the direction of Molly’s.