“TRESPASSING, TOM!” Helen shouts, three feet from me. Her fury flows over me like a hot wind from a raging wildfire. I did not expect her to be so angry. I thought when she arrived outside Strump’s house that she’d take one look at what Nate and I found and she’d be—well, maybe not pleased, maybe not grateful, but certainly not furious.
But I took one look when she got out of her car and knew I was in for it. The resounding slam of her car door put the exclamation point on that.
“Trespassing,” she repeats, “if not harassment.”
Nate says, “He asked me to do it, Detective! It wasn’t my idea!”
“You be quiet,” she points to Nate. “I’m yelling at him now. I’ll get to you.” She turns back to me and opens her mouth to continue.
“Listen, Helen,” I say, “I asked for Nate’s help to look into St
