I always hate funerals, but this one feels worse than usual. Micki was my classmate, not the grandparent of a classmate. I want to tell her parents that I’m sorry that she died, that I’m not sure why I survived, but there aren’t rules for those admissions. Instead, I reach out and take Mrs. Adams’s hand and squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” I say as steadily as I’m able. “She was a great person.”

Mrs. Adams cries more at my words, and Mr. Adams folds her into his arms. “Thank you,” he says. “They’ll find who did this to you two. They have to.”

I nod because there are no words here that work, and Mrs. Adams lifts her face from her husband’s chest again. She’s a strong Southern woman. Her breakdown is brief. “You be careful,” she orders. “Tell your friends, too.”

“I will.”

Another woman is coming over to talk to the Adamses, so Nate wheels me away as they turn their attention to the other mourners. Once we’re a little farther away from them, Nate says, “Let’s get you home.”

As we near the car, I see Grace standing next to Detective Grant. The look of fear on Grace’s face tells me far more than the impassive expression the detective wears. Something has changed, and for a moment, I’m terrified to find out what it is. My fears increase as Detective Grant says, “I’m here to see you home, Eva.”

“What happened?” Nate asks.

“And you are . . . ?”

“Nathaniel Bouchet, a friend,” I supply for him.

“And caretaker,” he adds. “Mrs. Tilling hired me.” He reaches past the detective to open the car door. “Grace, grab the crutches from the trunk.”

It’s almost funny how quickly Grace goes to do as he asks. I don’t need the crutches, but she needs a focus in the midst of whatever panic is riding her right now. I’m not sure if it’s the detective’s presence or if something was said before we reached them.

Detective Grant stares at Nate appraisingly for a moment, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply stands near us. I realize, though, that her attention is not on us directly. She’s scanning the area, studying the lingering mourners, and I know that whatever she’s going to tell me includes confirmation that the accident wasn’t really an accident.

Once Detective Grant elicits Nate’s assurances that he will drive us straight to my house, she adds, “I’ll follow you. Give me a minute to get in the car.”

Grace and Nate are silent as she walks away. Whatever she knows now is obviously reason enough for her to decide that I need to be escorted to my home. Of course, talking about an ongoing investigation in a cemetery would be strange and awkward. More so because the funeral that just ended was probably for a victim of the same criminal.

“Did she say anything to you, Grace?”

“She just asked where you were, who you were with, and that was it really.” Grace twists so she’s able to look over the seat at me. “She relaxed when she spotted you. Something has to have happened.”

“It could be that she was just not wanting to talk at the graveside. Bad taste and all.” I flip my veil up finally. I’d become so comfortable with it that I’d almost forgotten about it.

Nate looks into the rearview mirror, and I meet his gaze. “Don’t play stupid, Eva. Not with us.”

Immediately, Grace opens her mouth to object, but I say, “Sorry.”

He’s right. I do that. I pretend to be a little less smart, a little less observant. It lets me blend better. I take a breath and say, “Fine, I’m betting that they got their lab results back or a witness or some sort of proof that my accident wasn’t an accident. She is escorting us home. That’s a little bit of a clue that there’s more going on than worrying about bad manners.”

We’re quiet again. I lean forward a little to touch Grace’s hair, and she reaches back to close her hand over mine. I’m a little surprised at how quickly she’s adjusted to my “let me touch you first” rule, but she’s my closest friend. She trusts me even when I seem a little crazy.

When we reach my house, my father immediately comes outside. The trepidation I was already feeling spikes. Unlike the detective, his face is very readable right now. He’s at the car door almost before the engine is off. I look past him to see Mrs. Yeung standing with my mother on the porch too.

“The General’s here,” Grace says from the front seat. “This is worse than we thought.”

Dad opens the door. “Slide over here. I’m going to carry you inside.”

“I can—”

“No.” He motions me forward with his hand, and there’s something in his expression that makes me decide not to argue further. He turns his head to the side and says, “Grace, go inside now.”

The Southern male attitude that says girls need protecting is in full force right now, and I realize that my father is afraid. It’s not a familiar look on him. “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as he scoops me up. “Whatever it is. It’ll be okay.”

He says nothing, but his lips press together tightly like he doesn’t believe me.

As soon as we’re inside, Mrs. Yeung grabs Grace into a fierce hug.

My mother and Mrs. Yeung both look like they’ve seen something horrible, and my mother is reaching out toward me. I quickly put my hand on her arm before she can touch me. I think it’s that first contact that matters, and I cannot bear seeing her death, especially right now when everyone is so tense. My falling apart like I seem to when I have those visions would be the last thing they all need.