Hennessy shrugged. “Your choice. I’m just doing my job.”

I could almost hear the unsaid: And some days I fucking hate my job.

“I’ll be investigated for this, so I’d appreciate you giving a full statement about what happened before and after I came down the stairs.”

“They’ll get the truth. He fired on you first. Fuck—he fired on me.”

I climbed the stairs behind him, thinking that for as long as I lived, this basement would always be tainted. I’d been so proud of my set up—the firearms ID equipment and the range. And now … now I never wanted to set foot down here again. It was a fucking crime scene.

Chains wouldn’t be opening today … or probably anytime soon.

My numbers would run into the red really fucking fast, but that fact paled in comparison to what had just happened. Swallowing my pride and admitting to my brother I couldn’t swing the payment next month was nothing compared to this. My customers would get over it. Life would go on.

For most of us.

When we stepped into the alley, we had another visitor.

Rix.

“Came to get my car,” he said in greeting. “Decided on the Charger.”

Mother. Fucker. Of all the shit timing on the planet.

“This isn’t a good time.”

Rix looked closer at my arm.

“The fuck happened to you?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. But if you don’t want to be surrounded by cops, you’re gonna want to get a move on.”

Hennessy stepped out of the back door and into the alley. Rix’s eyes landed on him.

“Seems like you’ve already got one here.”

“Good to see you too, Rix,” Hennessy said.

“I’ve never said it was good to see a cop,” Rix tossed back.

“Then you best be moving on, because there’s about to be a whole lot more of us.”

“The fuck happened here?”

“None of your business, man.”

“Everything that happens in this neighborhood is my business.”

“Not today.”

Rix got in Hennessey’s face. “You think because you’re a cop you’re so much fucking better than me?”

“Not because I’m a cop.”

Hennessy had balls of steel—that was for goddamn sure. But Rix didn’t need to know what had just happened. He’d find out soon enough.

“I’ll get back with you on the car soon. Let’s table that discussion for another day.”

Rix eyed us both, and it was obvious from the ticking in his jaw that he hated being in the dark.

“You know I’ll find out what’s going on. I got my sources. Don’t need to get my information from a cop.”

“Then like I said, you best be on your way,” Hennessy replied as broken pavement crunched under the tires of the police cruiser turning into the alley.

Rix gave me a chin jerk and strode to his car. “I’ll be in touch.”

I nodded in response, and Hennessy and I both watched as he started up his Caddy and pulled away.

A second police cruiser and the ambulance pulled into the alley a few moments later, and I steeled myself for what was next.

“Mama, you’re up?”

It was one of those stupidly obvious statements, but my surprise got the better of me, and it tumbled out. My mother was sitting at the dining room table, one hand lifting a teacup to her lips. It was only nine, and I didn’t think she’d been up this early in years.

“I have a funeral to plan today.” Her words were crisp—no hint of slurring.

“I know. I thought I’d see if I could help.”

“I’ve already called the funeral director. He’s coming to the house in an hour to go over everything.”

I was surprised she hadn’t said she’d called the priest. Hesitantly, I asked, “Do you want me to call Father Benedict?”

My mother’s eyes swung to me. “Whatever for?”

“To talk about the mass?”

She shook her head and sipped her tea.

“That man is going to hell whether he gets a mass or not. But I suppose … people will talk if we don’t have one. The last thing I want is people having more to talk about.” I expected a snide comment about people having plenty to talk about because of me, but she added, “Margaux told me what I did to the library. I must’ve gotten the attention of the whole neighborhood last night.”

The way she said it, it sounded like she had no recollection of her actions. And maybe she didn’t. I’d been black out drunk exactly once, and we all knew how that had turned out.

“You didn’t attract any attention, Mama. The only person who was here was Doc Monroe. He came to … umm … help calm you down.”

Her face—already drawn—paled further. “Why would you call him? Of all people, why would you call him?”

“Because he’s the doc?” I replied, my answer coming out more like a question.

She lowered her teacup to the saucer with a clatter. “A woman should never be seen by a man when she’s at anything less than her absolute best. That wasn’t well done of you, Eleanor.”

Her vehemence surprised me. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Her hand shook as she reached for the teacup again. “Oh well. I suppose he should know the whole of what he’s getting.”

I choked on air. Yes, it was possible, because I did it.

“Wha—what?”

She looked at me, and I felt like this was some kind of twisted déjà vu—like a few weeks after my dad died, when she’d called me home one weekend from college, and I’d arrived to find movers packing the entire house. That was when she’d dropped the bomb about getting remarried. Somehow, her announcement had been secondary to the fact that she needed me to determine if there was anything I could get rid of from my room to make the packing go more quickly. It’d been like a gut punch followed by someone ripping your heart out. And now this?

“Mama, are you saying you’re going get remarried again? Like, now?”

She straightened. “I’ll do whatever I like, Eleanor. And this time, I’m not getting married. I don’t want to sentence John to the fate of the black widow.”

“But—”