She chewed her lip, looked around like she wished she could disappear into the walls. 'And what makes you think he had anything to do with the Johnson kid's death?'

It had happened before-me being wrong, that is. 'Oliver might not have been with Quinn when he died, but that doesn't mean he wasn't responsible.' It's an awful mess, and I'm sorry for him and his family and anyone who knew him. Two witnesses saw your brother's friend jump off that bridge all on his own. 'Well, kid,' I said, 'I don't think you need me. I looked over at the half-eaten bagel on my desk. The thing was, it hadn't been murder it'd been a suicide. I'd just read about Quinn Johnson's death in the paper that morning. The one who jumped off the Baker Street Bridge,' she said quietly. 'He's the boy they pulled out of Las Almas Bay yesterday. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. 'His friend Quinn Johnson,' she said in a voice flat as truck stop pancakes. Now, exactly who do you think your brother killed?' My brother's Oliver.' Her hands twisted the strap of her bag.

'How about you tell me your name before we get into that?' I said. It was a hell of a thing to say, especially for someone who'd just walked into my office wearing a pale pink jumper only a mother could love. But her eyes were clear and blue and smart. Plastic safety goggles rested on her forehead, held tight by an elastic band that circled her head and pooched her bobbed brown hair up at the crown. Her bare, knobbly legs swung back and forth like pendulums between the chipped legs of my client chair.

Scarlett Undercover by Jennifer Latham