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320 pages, Paperback
First published December 15, 2020
Someone who had never met Danielle talked. And talked. And Ava was meanly glad to note that sitting in the back was making it harder for the gawkers to gawk. You couldn’t subtly stare at someone when you had to twist halfway round to see them. She met every guarded look and side-eye with a wide, toothy smile and raised eyebrows. She decided giving them a double thumbs-up would be overkill.

If they haven’t managed to say goodbye in ten years, why do you think a memorial marathon would help? Ava realized she’d been looking at this all wrong. It could have been worse. She could have had to go both nights.
“Terrible business,” Mrs. Monahan was saying, small hands fluttering like she didn’t know where to put them. “All of it. And then you went away.”
Flew away. Immediately. At the speed of sound, never to return except for the occasional layover and/or memorial service. And to stock up on moisturizer.

“Great! I mean, I won’t. Fly. I’m—my feet are here. On the ground. Definitely not flying, heh.” Oh my God. Staaaaawwwpp.
“It’s not like he was doing me any favors,” Ava mumbled, wishing she’d faked appendicitis or amnesia or blindness or a coma or scurvy—anything that would have gotten her out of the Monahan madness. Because here they all were, again. Upset and finger-pointing like they’d been paid. Again.

“Ma! Is this why you told me to bring Ava?” Then he slapped his forehead. “Dumb question, of course that’s why.” He gave Ava an apologetic shrug.
“You were keeping things back ten years ago, and you’re withholding information right now, young lady!”
“I am not! And I’m pushing thirty, for God’s sake, so feel free to drop the always-condescending ‘young lady’ nonsense.”

Tom Baker realized he was nearing a full-on sprint and forced himself to slow down. It wouldn’t do to burst through the door of the Black Dog Café rushed and wheezing, then try to radiate calm disinterest while he had coffee with a possible murderess whose mouth and lush curves were sin personified.
It is deeply frigged that I am excited about this. And dammit, I am allowed to swear in the privacy of my own thoughts!
And there she was, Ava Capp, staring pensively out the window onto the street, either because she was pensive or because she was a sociopath who could mimic pensive, and he had no idea which it was.

Slept … in one of the drawers. Slept in one of the drawers? THE DRAWERS? Oh my God, he’s so weird and cool. Literally.
“Wait, so am I bad luck or a harbinger of doom or a vandal or a killer?”
“You’re the angel of motherfuckin’ death!” Xenia shrilled.





