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opening an investigation into his death?”
    “Of course we are,” he said. “I examined the scene and talked to the other kids who were out there with him last night. A couple of the boys said he was talking about missing his girl, and worried about his baseball season because of his knee.”
    I scribbled. “So he was a little upset. There’s a difference between bummed and suicidal.”
    “You trying to tell me how to do my job, Miss Clarke?” Sheriff Zeke’s tone flipped from conversational to stiff. “Because this is not my first rodeo. I know everything you’re saying.”
    “Then why are his parents convinced he killed himself?” I asked.
    Losing a loved one to suicide is hard, because the guilt that stays with the survivors can eat a person alive. I’d only been at the Okerson’s house for a couple of hours, but I liked them. I didn’t want them living with the “what if.” And my gut said something was off. Even if the sheriff was looking at me like I was a moron.
    “Because right now it’s the most plausible answer. He was upset. Alcohol is a depressant. And I don’t see a scenario where anyone made a kid as strong and fast as TJ Okerson swallow a fistful of narcotics.”
    “But you don’t even know that’s what killed him,” I protested. “You don’t have the tox screen back.”
    “It’s the most likely possibility.” He sighed. “Look, it’s not like I assumed this all by myself. His parents said he got the pills yesterday. They’re gone, he’s dead, no evidence of trauma. How does two and two add up in Richmond? Because out here, it’s usually four. This is a small town. I hate like hell the idea that a kid with everything in the world to live for decided he didn’t want to anymore. But it happens.”
    I studied him. His whole posture was one of resignation and exhaustion. He didn’t want this case any more than I did.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was questioning your investigative skills. They just seem like such nice people,” I said. Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. But arguing with him wasn’t going to get me anywhere but frozen out of the loop. “Was there anything else unusual about the crime scene?”
    His face and voice softened again. “Beach party. Bonfire. Beer bottles. Just kids blowing off steam on vacation,” he said. “I was out there for over three hours this morning combing the shoreline. It’s a sad situation. Got everyone on edge. But I’ve been at this for more years than I want to admit. The simplest answer is usually the right one.”
    I nodded, adding that to my notes.
    “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me,” I said, fishing a business card from my bag and handing it to him. “It was nice to meet you. When you hear about the tox screen, will you give me a call?”
    “I’m about to get buried by the media, huh?” he asked, tucking the card into the top drawer of his desk.
    “Very likely. But if it helps, national folks don’t ever hang around long.”
    “Our local paper and some of the TV stations and the paper in Newport are about the only reporters we ever get in here,” he said. “This will be different.”
    I smiled. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
    “I’d rather not have to.”
    I smiled understanding and turned for the door.
    Back in my car, I contemplated napping for a full two minutes before I started the engine and turned out of the square, aiming the headlights toward home.
    For most of the drive I tried to convince myself that Sheriff Zeke was right, but my inner Lois Lane chirped that he wasn’t looking hard enough. Honestly, I wanted him to be wrong. Murder was a sexier story all the way around, both because it would be easier on the people who loved TJ in many ways, and because murder sells papers. Plus, something about the sheriff’s words nagged the back of my brain. I just couldn’t grasp what through the germs and exhaustion.
    After arriving home, I filled