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“Making sure the water I use to take a sample doesn’t have any biological organisms in it,” I replied. “The mineral content won’t be ideal, but it shouldn’t interfere with a good DNA test.”

“Does the Sheriff’s Office have a good DNA test?” he asked.

“I’m not giving it to them,” I replied. “I’ll hand over the knife, but the swab will go to Hart.”

“Smart,” was Elliot’s response to that.

“We should also both take more photos of the knife,” I replied, pulling out my phone and documenting what I was doing.

Elliot took out his phone, too. “Why both of us?” he asked.

I sighed. “In case someone takes one of our phones,” I replied. “Please note that I’m also texting Hart.”

I’m about to photodump you , I sent to the elf. You can ignore them or do something with them, but we think this might have been used to kill my mother.

Jesus fuck, Mays , came back almost immediately. The fuck are you doing sending it to me?

I’m going to take it in to the Sheriff’s Office in a bit, I sent back. But I want to make sure nothing disappears .

Fuck. Fine.

I’d assumed that would be the end of our conversation, so I started sending pictures. But then he sent one more message.

Just make sure it isn’t the two of you that are disappearing .

I finished sending the photographs, then replied.

I’ll do my best .

By the time I got back to the room from the Sheriff’s Office—which Elliot and I had argued about, since he made the very valid point that they’d already tried to arrest me once, and showing up with a knife was a huge risk—Elliot had already gone out, purchased sandwiches and cat supplies, and was pacing back and forth between the beds.

The cat was on one end of the hotel desk and looked up with a “Mrrp?” when I walked in.

“Hello, kitty.”

The cat stood up, swishing her tail.

“What am I?” Elliot asked, and I could tell he’d been worried, so I walked up and hugged him, feeling him exhale into my shoulder.

“My amazing boyfriend,” I replied into his hair, breathing in the scent of his sweat, the sun, and the faint remnant of his shampoo. “Who I love very much.”

“I love you, too.” He sighed again, his breath warm against my shirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” he said softly.

“They didn’t even threaten to arrest me,” I told him. “They weren’t happy with me, and they told me not to leave town, but there were no cuffs involved.” I tried to make light of it, but it fell kind of flat.

“Can we be done with going there, now?” he asked, strain still clear in his voice.

“If I can help it,” I replied, although I had the sense that I was probably going to have to go back—although hopefully never again to spend a night in the cells. There would be questions, or reclaiming my mother’s property, or getting Noah… something.

“Mmmrow?” I felt a small paw touch my back.

“Hey, kitten,” I said, turning without leaving Elliot’s arms entirely. “Do you need hugs, too?”

“That cat is attention-starved,” Elliot said, trying to sound derisive, but not entirely succeeding.

“So then we should give her attention,” I replied. “Isn’t that right, kitten?”

“You should call her something other than kitten and kitty ,” Elliot said, moving to sit on the bed.

“Like cat ?” I teased, which is what Elliot had been calling her. I bent to take off my shoes and socks.

“Call her Annie,” he suggested.

“Annie?! Ugh. No.” You can name your dog or cat whatever you want, but I personally think it’s weird to name animals ordinary human names.

“For Little Orphan Annie,” he said. It was at least appropriate.

“Still no,” I replied, settling beside him.

“Mmmrp!” The cat in question jumped over to the bed and sat at the end staring at us as she wrapped her tail around her paws.

“See?” I said to Elliot. “She agrees with me.”

“Oh, you speak cat now, do you?”

“Absolutely. Once you adopt a cat, you learn to speak its language.”

Elliot snorted. “Eat your sandwich, cat-whisperer.”

I unwrapped it, approving of the thick layer of turkey and what looked like cranberry preserves, mustard, and some sort of stuffing-esque relish, and Elliot opened up a big bag of chips between us to share.

“So it went okay?” he asked.

“I mean, I didn’t feel like I was in any danger, personally,” I replied. “So yes in that sense. But it was a little… weird.”

“Weird how?” he asked around a mouthful of sandwich. His looked like roast beef.

I told him how the deputy who had eventually met with me hadn’t really seemed all that interested in any of the details about where or how we’d found it.

In fact, he’d asked me almost no questions at all and hadn’t done any of the paperwork that I was used to filling out, sometimes until I thought my eyeballs might start bleeding.

“I honestly don’t know if he’s even going to log it,” I finished.

Elliot was frowning. “You should tell Val,” he said.

“I texted him,” I replied grimly.

“What did he say?”

I pulled out my phone, then opened up my texts with Hart and handed the phone to Elliot.

“‘Those fucking fuckheads. If they fucking bury this, I will fucking destroy their careers.’ Which is pretty much vintage Val.”

“It definitely is,” I agreed. “But he also can’t do anything until there is actually evidence of wrong-doing.”

Elliot snorted, handing my phone back. “And how are we going to find evidence if they destroy it or just never do anything?”

I sighed. He wasn’t wrong, and I’d known that even as I’d texted Hart. That didn’t mean I was happy about it, of course. “I don’t have a good answer,” I replied. “I wish I did.”

Elliot made a soft grunting sound, then took another bite of his sandwich.

The cat chirped.

He looked up at her. “Eat your cat food,” he replied, pointing at the bowl on the floor. “This is our food.”

“Mew.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “No, Annie.”

“We are not calling her Annie,” I informed him.

“Then pick something else,” he replied.

I studied the animal, her reddish brown fur, big yellow eyes, the slight lightening of her coat under her legs and on her chest, the darker streaks on her forehead and the end of her tail. “Cinnamon?” I suggested. “Nutmeg?”

Elliot made a face. “If you name her after spices, it’s just going to make me hungry all the time,” he complained.

I thought for a moment. “Sassafras?” Her fur was a similar color to the bark, and while it was technically consumable, you didn’t eat it.

Elliot studied the cat. “I suppose it’s vaguely appropriate for a household that makes herbal compounds and teas. And it doesn’t make me hungry.”

“Meerow.”

“And she’s sassy,” he added. “Aren’t you?” he said to the cat.

“Mrow!”