“Yes, please.”

He hands me the phone and I swipe the screen as I view them one after the other.

Michael says, “Jesus, Nicki, how many are there?”

I hand the phone back to Broadus, saying, “I don’t know, Michael, I didn’t count them just now. But you should know the exact number. You’re the one who took them.”

Broadus, looking genuinely surprised, says, “May I show them to Michael?”

“Why not? He’s seen them many times, I’m sure.”

I don’t know if Michael realizes we’re all staring at his face as he flips through the photos, but what’s interesting—and a compliment to me—he doesn’t stop till he’s viewed the last one. He hands the phone back to Broadus, who says, “You took these photos?”

Michael nods.

Jess says, “Then how did they get on Daddy’s phone?”

“Good question,” I say. “Got an answer for us Michael?”

“I guess he must have gone through my phone and saw them and forwarded them to his.”

Jessie hugs me. “I’m so sorry, Nicki.”

“It’s okay. Just one more example of your brother destroying my life.”

“Fuck you!” Michael says.

“Yeah. Fuck me. And you sure did, didn’t you? You begged me a thousand times to let you take those pictures, and when I finally agreed you promised no one would ever see them because of your privacy setting. And now we learn your father’s been staring at them for God knows how long, not to mention these detectives and half the police department.”

Rudd says, “Miss Hill, I can assure you—”

“Oh, shut up, Detective. I know how these things work. Within days these pictures will be all over the Internet because of your leering incompetence. Yesterday David Thorne accidentally hanged himself, or committed suicide. Either way I doubt it’s part of your job description to find out why, but that’s exactly what you’ve chosen to do. And for some reason you came to the instant conclusion he and I must have been having an affair. Well, we weren’t. And even if we had been, what difference does it make to the police? The man clearly wasn’t murdered. Meanwhile, you’ve taken every opportunity to undermine my relationship with the family to the point I’m no longer welcome in their home.”

“Poor Nicki,” Michael says, holding up his thumb and index finger like it’s the world’s tiniest violin. “You know what this is, Nicki?”

“You, masturbating?”

Everyone laughs, including Alison.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he snarls.

“Never again, Michael.”

Jessie says, “Can I wait with you till your taxi shows up?”

“Thanks. I’d like that.” I look at Broadus. “Anything else, Detective?”

He says, “Actually, there is. In fact, we’re just getting started.” He looks around, notices the furniture grouping by the large window where we sat a half hour ago. “How about we sit over there?”

“Not enough chairs.”

“Detective Rudd and I will stand.”

As we take our seats Broadus says, “You quit your job last month.”

Michael says, “Not true. She called her boss yesterday before we left town.”

“She may have told you that,” Broadus says, “But she did quit her job. Correct, Miss Hill?”

I shrug. “Not last month. Two weeks ago. Is that a crime?”

Michael says, “You called them yesterday before we left. I heard you.”

“I faked it.”

“You quit your job?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I look at Detective Broadus. I know where this is going, I just don’t want to say it.