“Yeah. They haven’t left his side, so I doubt it, too.” Levi leaned back in his chair. “How about your ex-wife?”

The thought had crossed his mind. “The lights and the note on the windshield, maybe. But not the dead possum.”

“You sure? Nothing makes people crazier than jealousy.”

Jack paused. Hadley was a little...off; that was true. He couldn’t see her doing this, though. “Doesn’t seem like her style.”

“I might ask her some questions just the same. Be smart, Jack. If something else happens, tell me. The dead animal in your truck—that ups the stakes a bit.”

“Yeah.” There was a picture of Faith on the bookcase behind Levi. “How’s my sister?”

Levi’s expression changed from stoic police chief to goofy-in-love. “She’s great.”

“Good. Can’t wait to see my nephew.” He stood up and shook Levi’s hand. “Gotta go.”

Emmaline still wasn’t back.

Damn.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“REMEMBER, THIS PERSON IS, for the time being, your friend,” Jamie the badass instructor said. “Even if you hate what they’re doing and wish you could kick them in the sac, for now, you empathize, you listen, you mirror.” She tapped the whiteboard to emphasize the words she’d written there. “Don’t tell them that what they’re doing is crazy or stupid. Don’t deny what they’re feeling. That’s creating an argument, and you want them to feel they can trust you. Okay? Emmaline and Butch, you’re up. Em, you’re the tormented woman with your parents held at gunpoint. And...action.”

Butch cleared his throat. He and Em were sitting in chairs at the front of the class, facing away from each other while Shirley and Gale pretended to be the cowering parents.

“So what’s going on with you and your parents?” Butch asked.

“I hate them,” Em said, winking at Shirley, who was her best bud in the class.

“Well, yeah, everyone hates their parents. I hate mine, too,” Butch said.

“No, Butch,” Jamie interrupted. “This isn’t about you. It’s about Em and her shitty parents. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Butch said. “Uh...hate your parents, huh?”

“Yes,” Em said. “They love my sister best.” Might as well go for something close to home.

“Love your sister best, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Why do you think that is?” Butch asked. Em could practically hear him sweating; he wasn’t the best student in the group.

“Because she’s just better. Prettier, smarter, nicer.”

“She doesn’t hold them hostage,” Ingrid quipped.

“Keep going, Butch,” Jamie said.

“So...uh...what should I say next?”

“How about some emotional labeling?” Jamie said. “Identify her feelings so she’ll know you understand her situation.”

“Right, right. Uh, so you’re really pissed, right?”

Em tried not to smile. “Yeah, I’m pissed! That’s why I tied up my parents and have this gun!” Role-playing was fun.

To be honest, there was a lot more psychological work in this field than Em had anticipated. Mirroring, empathy, active listening, behavioral change... For the first time in her life, she understood why her parents loved their jobs so much.

“Let me take over, Butch,” Jamie said. She kicked Butch out of his chair and sat down. “So, Em, you’re feeling like it’s not fair that your parents favor your sister.”

“Exactly,” Em said.

“That must be really frustrating. Note, class, that I’m labeling her feelings, not just echoing them, like Butchie was—no offense, Butch. But when I put a label on them, Em can see that I get it, and that I understand her. We’re creating empathy here. Okay, Em, back to you. That must be frustrating.”

“It is.” Em felt a pang of guilt. “But I was no picnic, and my sister really is pretty great.” Speaking of Flawless Angela...Em should give her a call.

“Sounds like you guys are close.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. She’s nice.”

“What do you think she’d say about this situation?”

“She’d tell me not to do it.” Jamie didn’t respond, so Em kept talking. “She’d be upset. Devastated, really. She loves them a lot.”

“See how I paused there, people?” Jamie said. “This isn’t a rapid-fire police interrogation where you’re trying to keep someone off balance to get them to tell the truth. Sometimes the pauses let your bad guy do some thinking, and their situation starts to sink in.” She stood up. “And that, my friends, is all the time we have. Good job today.”

On the way home, Levi radioed in and asked her to check on Alice McPhales, a sweet old lady struggling with dementia. She still lived on her own, but it was a matter of time before her son had to make some changes. She called the police at least three times a week, convinced she saw people creeping around her property, which was a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Today she’d reported that someone had broken into her house. She called with this complaint a few times a month, so Em wasn’t really worried.

Everett pulled up in his cruiser just as she did. “Slow day?” Em asked.

“I’ll check the perimeter for intruders,” Everett said, reaching for his gun.

“Keep that in the holster, dumbass,” Emmaline said.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I don’t like going in there. It’s too crowded.”

“Everett...never mind. Knock yourself out and check the perimeter, but if you pull that gun out for anything less than an alien attack, I’m telling Levi.”

Everett muttered and kicked some grass.

“Mrs. McPhales?” Emmaline called as she knocked.

The old lady opened the door a crack. “Where’s Levi?” she asked.

“He’s at the station. He asked me to come instead. I’m Emmaline Neal. Luanne Macomb’s granddaughter. Remember? I’m a police officer, too.”

“Oh, yes. Luanne. She’s lovely! Such a good knitter! Tell her I said hello, won’t you?”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. McPhales.” No point in reminding the old lady her friend was gone. “Can I come in and check things out?”

Mrs. McPhales’s house was typical for an old person—too cluttered, too many little rugs that would make tripping easy. It was dark, too, since she had all the curtains drawn. “What seems to be missing, Mrs. McPhales?” she asked as she turned on a light.

“The gravy boat my grandmother gave me! I can’t believe they took it!” The old lady began to cry. “It was so beautiful, and now it’s gone. They must’ve come in when I was sleeping. I’ll never feel safe here again, and my husband built this house. They’ve ruined it! They’ve soiled it!”

Em put her arm around her. “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea?” she asked.

“I prefer coffee. But the...the...black box in the kitchen is broken.”

“The coffeemaker?”

“Yes.”

Em went into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The coffeemaker was unplugged. She plugged it back in and made coffee, and, while that was brewing, she filled the sink with hot water.