I shoved my foot into a tennis shoe and hobbled around the kitchen, trying to pull it on. NB's claws scratched at the back door, telling me to hurry. He'd completed his morning bathroom break and now wanted food and a comfy couch to rest on. Broadrick normally handled the morning potty time and then made me something good to drink. I missed him.

I didn't have time for iced coffee this morning. I had a full day of fiancée shopping, and if the world granted me, I'd pick up a few hours at the bakery for extra cash.

"I'm coming," I hollered to NB and jumped that way with my finger stuck between the back of my shoe and my heel.

My phone rang. "You've got to be kidding me."

I tipped right after shoving my foot in the shoe and fell against the counter, my hand barely bracing me in time before I went completely over.

I grabbed the phone and fixed the tongue of the tennis shoe so it wasn't all crunched up.

"Hello," I answered and opened the back door to let NB in.

"Vonnie Vines," my mother started in. Since she knew my last name, I didn't take it as a question, but more of a preemptive scolding.

"What did I do now?"

"Did you kill your aunt's fish?"

Holy shit. My chest seized. How did she find out? Who talked? I froze, trying to decide how far I had to move to escape this drama.

Something in my kitchen smelled like bacon, but I hadn't cooked any bacon. Not since Broadrick left. He was the bacon cooker. Bacon scared me. All that popping grease. No thanks.

"What? No," I asked after sniffing the air to locate the odor.

"That fish is important to your Aunt Claire." She'd obviously already planned out this conversation, and I just had to fill in the missing parts to keep her going.

"Mom, I didn't even know she had a fish until now."

Where had she been hiding him? If he was so important, why didn't he eat dinner with us when Broadrick and I choked down her horrible meatloaf? Was he getting the good stuff in some private dining room?

The way everyone acted about him, you'd think he was the guest of honor at Christmas.

"She won't have one if you killed him," my mom carried on as soon as I spoke.

I grabbed a box of cereal from on top of the refrigerator and opened it with one hand. Now that she'd called, I probably had time for breakfast.

"Why would you even think I'd done something to Jeffrey?" I had to sniff out the traitor among our ranks.

No way was it a bakery girl. We didn't tattle, but we had a leak somewhere. Probably one of the former SEALs.

My mother dropped her phone, the static sound almost breaking my ear drum. I did my best not to sigh so she heard while I poured cereal in the bowl with a little milk.

"Sorry I dropped the phone," she said on her return.

I found a spoon and dipped it in the bowl, pushing down the cereal so it soaked up the milk. "I figured. Who told you the terrible lies about Jeffrey?"

"Oh right. I went into the bakery to see him and Anessa said it was too hot in there for him, so you took him."

Good call, Anessa.

"I did," I said, speaking around a bite of cereal. The balls hadn't soaked up enough milk, so they crunched in my mouth.

My mother scoffed. "But you left his diaper bag there. Where's his food, Vonnie? How are you feeding him?"

Crap on a stick.

Time for evasion.

"Don't you think it's weird that she has a diaper bag for a fish? He's a fish."

"Of course it's weird," she said, raising her voice. "Your aunt has always been odd, but we're stuck with her now."

Well, that made me feel better. At least we agreed on the oddness. Milk dribbled out of my mouth and hit the floor. NB rushed to lick it up like he'd never eaten a piece of food in his life.

"You're sure Jeffrey is okay?" she asked. My mother had genuine concern over this fish. Where was that when I almost sprained my wrist in fifth grade and she told me I was being dramatic?

"Yes, Mom. He's fine." Or he would be once I found a duplicate at the fish store and replaced him.

My mother could never find out the truth. She'd freak and end up spilling the beans to my uncle. Then he'd for sure tell Aunt Claire.

"Good, because I actually called about more important stuff," she said, and I lowered my head.

This phone call would never end. She probably had to tell me about what she ate for lunch yesterday. It didn't matter what I was doing. Even if I said I was in the middle of a fistfight, she'd get out whatever she called to tell me. Regardless of its importance.

"I don't know what could be more important than Jeffrey not being dead." I finished the cereal and dumped the extra milk down the drain. Broadrick always bought skim milk, so it wasn't worth it to drink the rest at the end of a bowl.

I rubbed at my head. I always saw Broadrick doing it, so maybe it helped.

"This morning, the police started a manhunt for Allen," she said calmly.

My fingers almost dropped the phone. "What? Why wouldn't you lead with that information?"

Jeffrey was not more important than a Pelican Bay manhunt. She had to get her priorities straight. Also, why were the police on a manhunt and no one texted me immediately?

"They can't find him," she continued. Back to using her predetermined script without regard to my questions.

"That's normally when they use a manhunt." No one wasted the police resources on a person if they were at home watching television.

NB sniffed around my shoe, looking for more spilled milk.

"Don't get sassy with me."

I tapped my foot on the floor and rubbed at my head harder. How did Broadrick make it work? "Why do the police want Allen?"

"For murder, Vonnie. Obviously. Have you not been paying attention?"

I rubbed harder, my finger making circular patterns over my eyebrows. It definitely wasn't helping. Did this really work for Broadrick? He had to be faking because it only seemed to make my skin hurt on top of the blooming headache.

"Your sister is upset about the whole thing," she continued.

Probably because they're charging her ex-boyfriend with murder. "Does Vivi know where he is?"

"No, I sent her to school. She doesn't need this mess."

I paced the kitchen, still rubbing at my spot. These were all interesting pieces of information-except the fish parts-but I didn't know why she'd tell me. "What do you want me to do?"

"Show the police the evidence you have to clear Allen's name. Then we can all move on and get over this."

I wasn't sure you ever really got over a murder charge, but it wasn't worth arguing about it. I dug my fingers into my temple, but it just didn't work. Broadrick had to be lying about its effectiveness. Or he just kept trying, too.

"Right. I'm on it," I said, giving up on the entire thing.

"Good. I'll let you go so you can fix it, but call me later. I want to tell you about my lunch yesterday. I had this amazing salad at a new place in Portland. And I found the cutest shirt at this adorable boutique." Why did it never end?

I tried the head rubbing thing again. "Okay. Talk to you later."

I threw my head back and rested my back against the countertop. I just had so much to do, and now Anderson had cut my deadline to clear Allen's name in half. I really needed a damn list to remind me where I was. What did I do with the old one?

I didn't have time for a manhunt with everything else I had planned for the day, but I had to fit it in. If I found Allen first, I'd talk him into handing himself over to Anderson for prison points. Did it work that way with justice? Did you get brownie points for doing the right thing?

Probably not.

I fixed the bottom of my jeans against my tennis shoe and untucked the back of my long sleeve thermal shirt. I'd gone with plain colors. The red thermal looked good with my blonde hair and jeans were always a safe choice.

Before slipping my phone in my pocket, I stared at my unanswered texts to Broadrick and typed out another update about the manhunt. Then I paused before sending it. He hadn't responded to any of my others yet. Did he want five thousand texts from me when he made it back to a place with a signal?

Probably not.

I sent the text anyway. He needed to hear about Allen's impending arrest.

How did I get the actual killer to confess? I searched the living room for my keys, finding them between the cushions of the couch where I'd watched my favorite crime show yesterday before bed.

I really needed a bigger budget to buy spy gadgets. If I had one of those cool recording devices, I'd grab a confession on my own and hand it over to Anderson. But even with fast shipping, it wouldn't be here in time. I needed a pitch hitter.

"Okay, one step at a time, Vonnie," I said to myself at the front door.

First, I had to find Anderson and tell him he had a city-wide search for the wrong person.

Actually, I needed to find Allen.

All within two hours before I had to be in Clearwater for my appointment. At least with that case, I'd get a paycheck after I closed it.

I'd almost made it to the street before my phone rang again. Was it "Tell Vonnie My Problems Day"?

"Yeah, Dad," I said as I backed out of the driveway.

He probably called to warn me about my mother and the fish drama.

"Hey, kiddo," he said. "Don't tell your mom I called."