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Quinn was what.

Andy backed up, horribly conscious of, sickened by, the squish beneath his feet as he retreated from the scene of the crime—he had just walked through a crime scene—one, two, three steps, and then he turned and ran.

He raced down the hall, down the stairs, and skidded to a stop in the dark entryway.

“Quinn?”

No reply.

There was no sign of Quinn. Not in the entryway. Not in the den. Not in the kitchen.

As he left the kitchen, Andy’s heart hammered in something close to panic.

“Quinn?” he hissed. “Quinn!”

He remembered another time. The closest he had come to getting into real trouble with Quinn.

He had been in sixth grade, and Quinn in eighth. Quinn had picked up the alarming habit of breaking into people’svacation homes. He never stole or damaged anything, but he liked to poke around, snoop, “investigate.” And on one of his investigations, he’d brought Andy.

They had very nearly been caught by Chief Millard.

The thought still made Andy’s mouth dry. He had never done anything remotely illegal until that day, and he had been shaky with a mix of dread and excitement the whole time they had been inside the house.

When Millard’s cruiser had shown up, Quinn had simply…disappeared.

Andy had been left nearly immobilized by guilt and fear inside the house, until, with awhoopof his siren, Millard had suddenly taken off.

Sick with disappointment and betrayal, Andy had crawled out the window and made his way home to the shop and Uncle C. and safety. Even then, despite Uncle C.’s efforts to coax the story from him, he’d refused to give up Quinn.

He’d been brokenhearted.

But after supper, Quinn had come by Uncle C.’s to explain he’d left Andy to lure Millard away from the house. That he’d let Millard get a look at him, knowing Millard couldn’t resist that bait.

Millard had not caught Quinn, but he’d reported what he’d seen to Quinn’s grandfather, and Quinn had been grounded for the rest of the summer.

In theory.

And Andy had never doubted Quinn again. Although, looking back as an adult, he had to wonder—

“What’s up?” Quinn asked from behind him, and Andy spun around.

“Whittaker’s dead upstairs.”

“Hell.”

That sounded more resigned than concerned.

“Did youknowhe was dead?”

“I figured there was a strong possibility after I saw that dinner table.” Quinn’s shadow had already started up the staircase.

Andy followed, protesting, “We’ve got to get out of here now, Quinn. If we’re caught here with a body…”

Quinn, taking the steps two at a time, did not bother responding.

He reached the landing. “Where?”

“The closet in the main bedroom.” Andy glanced down and, in the moonlight, saw his earlier footprints. A wave of sickness rose. “I’m tracking blood everywhere.”