AS SON AS I got off the phone, I called Whit but got his voice mail.

I sat on my bed, trying to think back over everything that had happened since that day the week before when Roman first linked Peggy D’Angelo and Rebecca Parlin to my father. Was there a crucial clue I’d missed? Something so mundane that I’d passed over it without a second thought?

My stomach began to growl, and I realized that not only had I skipped dinner, but I had barely touched my lunch after Ashley proved to me that she hadn’t sent the “kill you last” e-mail. As distasteful as the idea of eating felt at that moment, I knew I’d better get something into my stomach.

From what I found in the refrigerator, it was clear that Mom hadn’t had much to eat, either. I reheated a small bowl of spaghetti and had just sat down when Dad came in. My emotions were a jumble. If anything, now that I knew that he’d been involved with Ashley, I was angrier than ever at him.

“Any more of that?” He nodded at the plate of spaghetti.

I pointed at the refrigerator.

Dad nuked some spaghetti and poured a glass of tequila. From the way he gobbled down the pasta, it was obvious that he’d also missed a few meals that day.

I didn’t want to speak to him, but curiosity overruled my feelings. “Why did the police want to talk to you about Gabriel?”

“They’re talking to everyone who knew him,” Dad said. “Did I know who he owed money to, or ever hear anyone say they wanted to hurt him? Did I ever see him with anyone who looked suspicious?”

“Did you?”

Dad shook his head. “The only times I saw him outside of work, he was usually with a date.”

That brought another question to mind. “Was there one girl in particular?”

“No. I used to kid him that every time I saw him, he had a different piece of eye candy on his arm.”

I felt my insides go icy and black. “Not eye candy, Dad. Girls. Human beings. With hopes and dreams and feelings. Not objects.”

He bowed his head. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

But it was too late. The dam broke. I couldn’t keep the anger from spilling out. “Maybe, if you’d understood that from the beginning, you wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place.”

Staring at the table, he nodded, unwilling, or unable, to look me in the eye. “I’ve … been thinking about that. And … I know this won’t mean very much. And it won’t make up for what I’ve done. But … once I get things under control … Or maybe I should say … if I get things under control … I’ve decided to see a therapist.”

It was easy to say, but sadly, I had learned not to count too much on his words. Dad was good at saying whatever he thought was expected without following through. I thought back to Gabriel. “Did the police say what they think happened?”

Dad chewed pensively and swallowed. “They don’t know.

They really want to believe that it’s got something to do with his gambling debts. Because if it doesn’t, then maybe Janet isn’t the killer after all and they may have arrested the wrong suspect. And that would look really, really bad.”

“Did you tell them about him trying to blackmail you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Dad let the air out of his lungs. “They know he had big gambling debts, so his needing money wouldn’t be news.”

I stared at him. Once again he was unable to meet my gaze. “But that’s not why you didn’t tell them, is it?”

He lowered his head. “No, it’s not.”

I went to bed still trying to make sense of it all, still feeling like the answer was right in front of me and I just wasn’t looking at it the right way. In the morning, neither Mom nor Dad was around, and Roman didn’t come to school. I assumed her sniffles the night before were from a cold and not from an allergy, but I sent her a text anyway, to find out what she was up to.

After lunch, I was sitting in math when I felt my BlackBerry vibrate. Assuming it was Roman texting back, I waited until class ended before I checked.

The text was from Whit: Meet @ rez asap!!!!

I texted back: Cant. @ schl.

He wrote: Lfe/dth.

Life or death? Was he serious? In any other situation, I would have considered it a gross exaggeration.

But not in this situation.

I left school and drove to the reservoir. Whit was waiting in his car. I parked and got out, expecting him to do the same. Instead, I heard his car engine start. He waved for me to get in.

I hesitated. If he wanted to go somewhere else, why had he suggested meeting here? Why couldn’t we go in two cars?

He lowered his window. “Come on, get in.”

I didn’t move. “Why?”

“I need your help with Mercedes.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” he said impatiently. “Come on.”

Something told me not to. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you, I’ll explain in the car.” There was something different about him. Something urgent and tightly wound. I still didn’t move. His brow furrowed. “What are you waiting for?”

“Can’t we go in two cars?”

He blinked with astonishment. “You … don’t want to be in the car with me?”

I felt embarrassed and didn’t answer. Would he get angry?

Instead, his expression softened. “Oh, man. You really don’t know who to trust, do you?”

I nodded, feeling my face flush. Was I being incredibly unfair?

“I understand.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and he stared straight ahead, as if lost in thought.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“How to do it without you.”