I spin around, leaving Detective Broadus behind, and rush to their sides, hug them, and tell them how sorry I am. By then Michael’s hugging Jessie, waiting to console his mom, and I feel like an outsider. From behind me Broadus says, “Miss Hill? We need to talk. Now.”

He leads me fifty yards away from the others and stops beside what I assume is his car. Then he gives me a no-nonsense look and says, “How would you describe your relationship with David Thorne?”

I stare at Broadus a minute, trying to read his thoughts. Then say, “We were cordial.”

“Cordial?”

“Yes sir. I mean, he and Alison—Mrs. Thorne—have been like parents to me.”

“Were you sleeping with him?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question, Miss Hill. What I’m asking, were you fucking him?”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yes or no, please. But do yourself a favor: don’t lie. Because we’ll know the truth soon enough, and if you’re lying, it’ll come back to bite you.”

“Whoa. Are you for real right now?”

“This is as real as it gets, sweetheart. Got an answer for me?”

I feel like I just walked into the middle of a foreign movie with no subtitles. This detective asks about my relationship, and I tell him David’s been like a father to me, and his first question is, have I been fucking him? That’s sick. I mean, has he been fucking his parents?

I tell Broadus exactly what I’m thinking: “This is crazy.”

“I agree,” he says. “But answer the question. And do so with total honesty.”

3.

8:22 p.m.

I’VE SEEN ENOUGH murder mysteries on TV to know anything I say can be used against me, so I take a few seconds to compose my thoughts before answering. Then I stand straight and tall, look him in the eye and say, “David was my fiancée’s father. I never had an affair with him, nor would I. My ‘relationship’ with him, as you call it, was nonexistent, outside of a few family dinners and outings.”

“You’ve never met him away from the family?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just the two of you?”

I nearly say no, but catch myself. “We had coffee once.”

“When was that?”

“About three months ago.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Michael and I had recently broken up and the Thornes wanted me to reconsider. I met with each of them one-on-one: Alison, Jessie, and David.”

“And where did this meeting with David take place?”

“Starbucks.”

“Which one?”

I tell him, then ask, “What’s this about?”

“Really, Miss Hill? The man died today. We’re investigating it.”

“We were told he hanged himself.”

He stares at me, saying nothing, so I ask, “Is that not what happened?”

“How about I ask the questions?”

I shrug.

He says, “Where else had you met Mr. Thorne?”

“Like I said: family get-togethers.”

“Did you ever meet him in private? Just the two of you?”

“No. Just…”

“Yes?”

“That time at Starbucks.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes. Are we done here?”

“Almost.”

He removes his phone from his pants pocket, searches for something, finds it, and tilts the screen so I can see it. “Wait,” he says. “Let me adjust the brightness.” After doing so he says, “We found this photo on David’s phone. Can you explain it to me?”

“Of course. That’s me, taking a selfie with Mr.