Oak branches vanished when she turned off the headlights. She killed the engine, felt her nerves bristle, then settle. She dangled an arm into the space behind the backseat, moving it around in the cool, comforting emptiness. She watched the smoke rise from chimneys up and down Modjeska Canyon, and she tried to banish the voice that told her she was wrong to be doing this. She'd spent the last forty-eight hours listening to that voice. She'd argued with it, agreed with it, disputed with it, screamed back at it. Now, decided, all she could do was tell it to shut up and leave her alone. At 7:02 she saw his van roll out of the driveway and down the road. Mike started work at quarter of eight, and Mike would rather be dead than late. You're betraying him so you can know him? You're investigating him to prove him innocent? Ten minutes later she drove over, parked in front of the house and let herself in as the dogs commenced barking. The house smelled of wood smoke and coffee like it always did.
