I took my duffel back upstairs to my old room, washed my face, and changed into something a little less “take me out to the ballgame.” This morning, in my sleepy state, I hadn’t noticed that the guest bathroom was well-stocked with toiletries, including some kind of magic gel that took the worst of the frizz out of my curls. I didn’t exactly want to look professional when I went to the police station, but I didn’t want to be immediately pegged as a flake either. If the cops weren’t going to be helpful (and they had no reason to be), I’d prefer they just forgot I was there. I’d arrive as a dutiful citizen to give my statement, then just wait around to (hopefully) drive Bran home and see what I could pick up in the meantime.
Jeanette pounced on me at the bottom of the stairs. Well, as close
