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Oh boy.

Parker comes rushing around the counter, then grabs Dahlia’s arm and leads her back into an employee lounge. The two women sit at a round table, but I choose to stand near the doorway—just in case.

“Okay, so you were in an accident?” Parker asks.

“Yes. My car ended up over a bridge in Stormwatch Landing.”

“Stormwatch Landing? Where’s that?”

“Up the coast,” Dahlia explains. “Ryker pulled me out. He’s the only reason I’m alive.” Dahlia’s eyes lock on mine, and I swallow hard. I’m in trouble here.

“Well, friend Ryker, seems you should be upgraded to hero Ryker.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at her obvious flirtation. Her friend shows up here, battered and unable to remember the last two weeks, yet here she is hitting on the guy who came in with her.

“Why did you say I needed to avoid Pine Meadow?”

“Because the cops have been all over it. And that’s not even taking into account the additional security.”

“Security?” I question.

“Oh yeah. Since Mr. Prescott died, the security has been intense. I have to turn my phone in at the front door, and I’m not allowed to go into any room without logging which room I’m going to and why.”

“How do the residents feel about that?” Dahlia asks.

“Eh, it’s hit or miss. Some don’t seem to mind it, but others are vehemently against it and have been more than vocal that they will be moving out if something doesn’t change. Anyway, the cops were asking us all kinds of questions about you.”

“What kinds of questions?” I ask.

“First it was about her history at the facility: When did she start working there? Did we know why she’d wanted a job there? How did she act after her grandfather passed? Then they started asking more random questions, like: Where did she like to hang out, and what did she do with her spare time?”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth. That Dahlia only started working there because she wanted a safe place for her grandfather, that when he passed she took some time off but came back a month later and seemed fine. Sad, but fine. Then I told them that she pretty much worked and went home.”

“Exciting life I lead,” Dahlia mutters, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just wish I knew what was going on.”

Parker reaches over and covers Dahlia’s hand with hers. “I do, too. I can’t tell you much out of the ordinary over the last two weeks. You were in full preparation for the 20s party, though. It was a hit,” she says. “Well, until they realized what happened to Mr. Prescott, anyway. But you have to know, none of the residents think it was your fault.”

Dahlia’s eyes fill. “I never would have hurt him, Parker. I’m not a drug addict.”

“Girl, I know you aren’t.” She looks up at me. “Dahlia doesn’t even drink.”

“I don’t think it was her, either,” I tell Parker. The guilt that I’d very nearly walked away from her weighs heavily on me, especially now.

“They think I stole those pills. I was grilled by a detective when I was in the hospital.”

“I know. They told us you were a suspect, too. I tried to tell them they were way off, though. You’re the most honest person I know.” Once more, she looks up at me. “Dahlia and I went grocery shopping for a surprise birthday party for a resident, and after we loaded the groceries into the Pine Meadow van, she realized they didn’t scan a birthday candle. I told her just to put it in the bag. I mean, it was fifty cents, you know? But Dahlia ran back in and paid for it. Someone like that doesn’t steal pills.”

“I agree.”

Parker turns back to me. “I wish I could help more.”

“There was nothing out of the ordinary leading up to that night?” I ask Parker. “Nothing with Mr. Prescott?”

“I mean, not really. He had a visitor, which I thought was strange. Some guy named Roy. He seemed friendly, though, and left on good terms with Mr. Prescott.”

“What else do you remember about him?” I ask her.