She got quiet when someone hurt her feelings, because she’d learned from losing her mother that grief made other people uncomfortable. She apologized when she bumped into furniture.

She sent thank-you notes after every holiday. She kept spare batteries in my junk drawer because I always forgot to buy them.

That was how Emily got.

“Daniel,” I said, keeping my voice flat. “Where are you right now?”

“Home.”

The deputy’s eyes moved to mine.