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“Anthony, where were you last night?”
    The color drained from Anthony’s face.
    Misty turned around at the sink, her hands dripping soapy water on the floor. “He was here, with me. Why?”
    “Has something happened to Sydney?” Anthony’s mouth bent into a frown.
    Mike drew a breath and nodded with tears in his eyes. “I’m afraid so. She’s . . . dead.”
    Misty dried her hands on her pants and set them on Anthony’s shoulders.
    He quickly pushed her away.
    “Just give me a goddamn minute, would you?” Anthony started to cry, the kind of genuine tears Mike, himself, had cried for hours after finding Sydney’s body. “What happened?”
    Misty all but threw the rest of the dishes into the cabinets. She’d gone from empathetic to angry in a matter of seconds, as if somehow Anthony’s mourning the loss of his wife said more about his feelings for Sydney than those he had for her.
    “I’m not in a position to share details right now. I’m sorry,” Mike said. “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt her?”
    “Hurt Sydney?” Anthony cast a glance at Misty. “You’re kidding me, right?”
    “I wish I were. The first thing to come into question is usually motive.”
    “What are you getting at, Mike? You think I’m the closest thing Sydney had to an enemy?”
    “I wouldn’t classify you as an enemy , Anthony. I don’t think Sydney would have, either.” Mike turned to Misty. “What can you tell me about the fight at the courthouse?”
    Misty threw her hands up and launched the dish towel across the counter. “All right. That’s it. I’ve had enough.” She flung the apartment door open. “You have to leave. Now.”
    Mike raised his eyebrows at Anthony.
    “Sydney called Misty a whore and a home wrecker. There was a slap-fight and raised voices, but nothing out of the ordinary, considering.” Anthony wiped the tears from his cheeks. “We were here last night, both of us, and neither out of the other’s sight. Misty and Sydney had their history, but a minor scuffle doesn’t equal murder, Mike. Not by a long shot.”
    Mike pushed in his chair and pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket. “If you think of anything at all that might help with the case, call me.”
    “I will,” Anthony said, following Mike into the hallway and out of Misty’s earshot. “Look, I’m sorry about how we reacted. This divorce has things here on edge. I loved Sydney, Mike. You know that. Even after the separation, I tried putting things back together, but sometimes life puts people on different paths, you know?” Mike nodded, at ease that this was the Anthony he’d known and trusted for years. Anthony reached out and shook Mike’s hand. “You’ll tell me as soon as you know something?”
    “I will, thanks, and sorry for ruining your night.”
    Anthony shrugged. “It was ruined before you got here, trust me.” He went back inside and closed the door.
    Misty’s shouting came as soon as the deadbolt latched.
    Mike eavesdropped, and finding no useful information in their argument, headed back into the cold to track down the medical examiner.

CHAPTER 7
    Ana walked up the flagstone path to her former childhood home, a craftsman-style bungalow on a postage-stamp lot where her parents once lived and where, in their absence, her sister, Sydney, had raised her.
    Snow collected in the nooks and crannies of the stone columns holding the main roof over the expansive front porch. Ice coated the remains of the robin’s nest that she and Sydney had kept a close eye on the previous spring. Two eggs had hatched, and, eventually, the young birds flew safely away. Sydney left the nest intact, hoping some bird might take up residence again the next year.
    There was no indication, even in the throes of a messy divorce, that Sydney wouldn’t be there to see it.
    The porch swing creaked in the wind, and Ana closed her eyes, imagining her father’s arms around her and her mother’s sweet voice singing.