Thorne.”

“And where were you at the time?”

“In a restaurant, with his family.”

He frowns, so I explain: “It was Christmas weekend. Look: you can see Jessie in the background.”

He stares at the photo like it’s his wife with another guy. Finally, I ask: “Why are you grilling me about this?”

“You think I’m grilling you? Believe me, if I ever start grilling you, you’ll know it.”

“I know it already. You keep accusing me of having an affair with my fiancée’s father even after I’ve denied it. You’re making it sound like an innocent photo is murder evidence. Am I a murder suspect?”

“Should you be?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course not. I’m 112 pounds with clothes on. How could I possibly hang a 220-pound man?”

“You know his exact weight?”

“Everyone does. He was obsessed with his weight. Talked about it all the time.” When Broadus says nothing I ask, “Can I go now?”

“Suit yourself.”

I turn away, but before I take the first step he says, “One last thing.”

I sigh, then turn to face him.

“What did you do to make David so angry?”

“Excuse me?”

“As I said, the photo I showed you came from his phone. But he kept a printed copy in a frame.”

“So?”

“Why would he keep a framed photo of the two of you?”

“He was being polite.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I took the photo I emailed him a copy. Later on I printed it, put it in a frame, and sent it with a message thanking him for including me at their family event.”

“You’re saying he felt obligated to keep it?”

“That’s my guess.”

“And did you take a selfie with Alison as well?”

“I wanted to, but she hates selfies. So no. But I did send her a gift and thank you note for making me feel so welcome at Christmas.”

“What was the gift?”

“Laser-cut thank you notes.”

He writes it down in his pad and stares at it while I wait for him to speak. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Why are you making such a big deal out of my stupid selfie picture?”

“We found it on the floor, across the room from his body.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we. But it appears the last thing David Thorne did before hanging himself was throw your selfie across the room so hard it smashed the frame and put a dent the wall. Any idea why he might do that?”

“No. But…”

“Yes?”

“At least I understand why you’re asking these crazy questions.”

“Have you heard the circumstances concerning the body? How he was found?”

“I only heard he hanged himself.”

I look at him for an explanation, but all he says is, “I’m sure the others will tell you.”

I walk back to where Michael and his family had been, but Jessie’s the only one there. She’s as distraught as I’d expect, which makes me wonder why Alison and Michael aren’t comforting her.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She and Michael are talking. They told me to wait for you, and said when you were done with the detective maybe we could hang together. Can we?”

I cringe at her use of the word hang, and wait to see if she realizes what she said. But she doesn’t, so I say: “Of course. Want to walk a bit?”

She does, so we head down the long driveway and turn right at the road and continue till we reach the end of their fence line. Then I ask, “What’s your mom talking to Michael about?”

“I’m not sure, but they’re definitely up to something.”

“Like what?”

“I think they’re talking about the insurance…and about you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t know. Something about what the detectives were asking.”

“I see. Is there anything you want to ask me?”

“No, but…I might want to talk to you about something else.” She hastens to add, “But I’m not ready yet.”

“That’s fine. Whenever you’re ready, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Nicki.”

Two local news vans race past us with their flashers on. We watch them drive right up to the edge of the Thorne’s driveway, and park.

“We’d better head back,” I say.

Jessie agrees, and by the time we get there the news crews are standing in the front yard, shooting video footage.

“Assholes!” I say. “Act like we’re gawkers, not family members.”

“How do gawkers act?”

“I don’t know, actually.”

Despite the seriousness of the occasion, she giggles.