POV: Emma
I have a terrible habit.
When something doesn't make sense, I can't stop thinking about it.
The acquisition notice.
The expensive sedan.
The man who knew Damian.
The strange look on Damian's face whenever Knight Global came up.
Every piece fit somewhere.
I just couldn't see the picture.
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to play detective.
Today was the Brookside Charity Bake Sale.
By eight o'clock, folding tables lined the courtyard. Colorful banners stretched between trees, homemade desserts covered every available surface, and Mr. Wilson had somehow connected three different speakers that insisted on playing completely different songs.
Jazz floated from one corner.
Country music came from another.
Somewhere in the middle, an enthusiastic polka somehow won.
"It so
