From the point that the box spilled Starlet’s secret, to Detective Barnes leaping off the steps in a dead-heat run to Eric’s house, everything happened in fast motion. I hurriedly tossed the cell phone along with the newspaper clippings and legal proceedings from Starlet’s trial into the box, grabbed my keys and a light jacket and slammed the door behind me. If Detective Barnes’ train-of-thought in any way resembled mine, Starlet was in serious trouble.

Once outside, I stood on the sidewalk debating whether I should head to Eric’s house or wait and see what happened. Dread seeped into my pores as I turned over the recent events in my head. I couldn’t decide whether my shivering was from the coolness of the night air, or the frightening realization that Starlet might have to relive a nightmare that, once again, she had nothing to do with.

How could I have been so stupid? The one chance I had to do right in somebody’s life, and I still managed to screw things up. Majorly. Were it not for me, the box and its contents would never have come into question.

I paced back and forth on the sidewalk, trying my best to devise a plan. I had to find a way to get Barnes back to my place. I had to get my mother to admit what really happened. I had to—Bingo! I knew exactly what I had to do.

Halting momentarily, I plucked my vibrating cell off my hip, ripped it open and glanced at the display. Mason. One of the last people I needed to be speaking to. I pressed the ignore key and slipped the phone back into its holder. I had bigger fish to fry than dealing with Mason’s self-invoked troubles.

With renewed confidence, I began the short walk to Eric’s house. I was about to cross the street, when the screeching tires of a police cruiser turning up the block destroyed the brewing idea. I watched as the car came to a halt at Eric’s house.

The Good Detective had requested back up.

In the darkness, I could see Starlet being led to the car. Minutes later, the squad car carrying her drove swiftly past me. Starlet’s face was glued to the glass of the passenger window. Her eyes, their black orbs reflecting the glow of the streetlamps overhead, stared unseeing into the night.

As I made a mad dash for my car, Eric drove up. He rolled down the passenger window and leaned over. “Get in. They’re taking Starlet in for questioning.”

“I think I should take my own car,” I said. “I plan to be there as long as Starlet needs me.”

“Well, right now, I need you. I need you to make some things about Starlet’s past clear to me.” He looked up the street and back at me. “Get in.”

I leaned on the door, taken aback by what I saw. Eric’s tightly drawn face and glazed eyes caused him to resemble a weary, old man, instead of one in his prime. His shoulders that normally stood proud sagged perilously low.

The idea of Ashley being dead must surely be taking its toll, I thought. And, now, to have Starlet—the woman he obviously was falling for—brought in for questioning had to be the final nail in the coffin. By all accounts, life had defeated him, and he looked the part.

“Are you okay?” I asked, opening the door.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Detective Barnes spoke as he rounded the car and shut the door. “The only people you should be worried about are yourself and your friend.”