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Courtney was beyond help, the uniformed police arrived. That’s when the guy in black had quietly disappeared, leaving Sam and me to our own devices. Not surprising. From the look of Tall, Dark, and Dangerous I’d say he made a habit of avoiding authority like most people avoid Brussels sprouts.
    Once the police had gotten a look at Josh’s room, they’d called in Detective Raley from homicide, who had then sent for the guy from the crime scene unit (who, by the way, looked nothing like the hot guy on CBS). But it was when the black coroner’s van finally arrived that I’d lost it and tossed my partially digested pizza sticks into Mrs. DuPont’s azalea bushes. Up until then, it had all been sort of surreal, almost like watching a scene unfold on TV. The uniformed officers fending off a growing crowd of curious stay-at-home moms, CSU dusting the front door for fingerprints; and blue and red lights from the squad cars bathing the entire neighborhood in hues that were half dance club, half kindergartner coloring book.
    But seeing the coroner wheel a gurney from the back of his van up the front walkway to Josh’s house made me realize just how dead Courtney was and just what kind of trouble Sam and I were in.
    “Doing okay?” Raley asked, laying a tentative hand on my back.
    I took a few more deep breaths from the curb, inhaling the scents of rainwater, someone’s nearby barbecue, and the rubber from my shoes. Then I lifted my head and slowly nodded. “I think so.”
    At which the detective looked immensely relieved. I’d venture to say vomiting teens hadn’t been in his job description. He looked old enough to be someone’s dad, but maybe not quite to grandpa stage yet. Red hair, round belly, lots of freckles, and a generous helping of wrinkles that said he was too tough for sunscreen.
    “I just have a few more questions, then you can go home, okay?”
    I nodded again. Then stole a glance across the street, where Sam was on her cell, talking faster than a chipmunk on Starbucks to her boyfriend about our gruesome discovery. Knowing Kyle, it would be all over school in a matter of minutes. I willed my queasy stomach not to think about it.
    “You said your boyfriend lives here?”
    “Yeah. Josh. Josh DuPont.”
    “And the victim . . .” He looked down, consulting his notes.
    “Courtney,” I supplied, finding myself feeling sorry for her despite all I’d learned that day.
    “Right. Courtney Cline.” He looked up, his heavily lined face puckering in concern. “What was she doing here?”
    I bit the inside of my cheek. “Most likely effing my boyfriend.”
    “Effing?”
    “It means—”
    Raley held up a beefy hand. “Uh, I think I know what it means.” His cheeks tinged red, but he cleared his throat and continued. “So, Courtney was ‘seeing’ your boyfriend?” he asked, doing air quotes around the substitute verb.
    I nodded.
    “And you came here to confront her?”
    “Well, no. I mean, I came to confront Josh, really, but we found her instead.”
    “And things got out of hand?” he asked.
    “Yeah. Wait—no!” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you mean, ‘got out of hand’?”
    He paused as if choosing his words very carefully. “Courtney was murdered, Hartley.”
    And while I knew it was pretty unlikely that Courtney had accidentally strangled herself with her iPod earbuds, hearing the words out loud sent my stomach lurching again.
    “We did not kill her,” I said. “We were just coming to talk to Josh. Only he chickened out and wasn’t here.”
    “So, Josh knew you were coming to confront him?”
    “That would be my guess.”
    “And he got here first?” he asked, gesturing to Josh’s Jeep.
    I shrugged. “Looks like it.”
    “And made sure Courtney would keep his secret.”
    “What? No. You think Josh . . . ? No. No way.”
    “No?”
    I shook my head again. “There is no way Josh could have done this.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Positive. I know Josh.”
    “You