Grave Sight by Charlaine Harris

You’ve already been hit by lightning. What are the odds of that happening twice?”
    â€œWhat were the odds of it happening once?” I countered, though my real reasons were probably not what he supposed.
    We drove slowly, and the red Honda stuck with us. The roads around Sarne were narrow and flanked by some steep terrain, and there was the ever-present possibility a deer would dash across the road.
    When we got to the motel, we had a debate about whether to stop and let the unknown girl see where we were staying (which she’d already know if she was a cop) or keep riding around until she tired of following us. Going to the police station, we agreed, felt silly. After all, she hadn’t threatened us or done anything other than ride behind us.
    It was my bladder that determined our course of action. We pulled in, I dashed into my room, and by the time I came out, Tolliver reported, “She’s trying to make up her mind to come over and knock on the door.” He was concealed behind the curtains, and he hadn’t turned on a light in the room.
    I joined him, and it was like watching a pantomime. The girl’s car was clearly lit up by the lights in the parking lot, and she was recognizable; that is, I’d be able to pick her out in a police lineup now, though her features weren’t crystal clear. She had short brown hair worn in a longer version of a standard boys’ haircut, which looked cute on her, since she was a petite thing. She was maybe seventeen, maybe younger, and she had a pouting lower lip. She was wearing enough eye makeup for three ordinary women. Her small face had that look so common in teenage girls from homes where all is not well—part defiant, part vulnerable, all wary.
    Cameron had worn that expression on her face all too often.
    â€œHow much are you willing to put down on this? I think she’ll give up and drive away. We’re too scary for her.” Tolliver put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.
    â€œNah, she’s coming in,” I said with assurance. “I’d be taking your money too easily. See? She’s daring herself.”
    Rain began to pelt down again as she made up her mind to brave us. She launched herself from the car and dashed for my door. She pounded on it twice.
    Tolliver turned on the lamp beside the bed as I answered her summons.
    She glared at me. “You the woman that finds bodies?”
    â€œYou know I am, or you wouldn’t have been following us. I’m Harper Connelly. Come in.” I stepped back, and, shooting me a suspicious look, she entered the room. She looked around carefully. Tolliver was sitting in the chair trying to look harmless. “This is my brother Tolliver Lang,” I said. “He travels with me. You want a Diet Coke?”
    â€œSure,” she said, as if turning down a soft drink was unthinkable. Tolliver got one out of the ice chest and handed it to her. She took it with her arm extended as far as she could reach, to keep her distance from him. I pushed the other chair out to indicate she should use it, and I perched on the side of the bed.
    â€œCan I help you?” I asked.
    â€œYou can tell me what happened to my brother. I’m not saying I think what you’re doing is okay, or even morally defensible.” She glared at me. “But I want to know what you think.”
    I thought she had a good civics teacher.
    â€œOkay,” I said slowly. “Maybe first you could tell me who your brother is?”
    She flushed red. She was accustomed to being a notable fish in a very small pond. “I’m Nell,” she said, clipping off the words. “Mary Nell Teague. Dell was my brother.”
    â€œYou can’t be much younger than he was.”
    â€œWe were ten months apart.”
    Tolliver and I looked at each other briefly. This girl was not only a minor, but the sister of a murder victim. And I was willing to bet she’d never been out of