You Don't Know Jack by Adrianne Lee Page A

wondered if there was more to it than that.
    "Figure it out, darlin'!"
    I jumped back. "Don't do that!"
    I didn't need a ghost popping into my mind anytime he chose, but I suspected Lars would until and unless I found out who'd killed him.
    "That's right, darlin'. Don't say I didn't warn you."
    "Just tell me who killed you and I'll work on finding the evidence."
    Nothing. Lars' ghost had gone as quickly as the last time. Damn him. I couldn't just sit here staring at a list of unrelated clues. I needed to fill in the gaps with what I didn't know. I changed to street clothes, added a baseball cap and shades, then ducked out the back way to elude the two reporters parked in front of Sharkey's Tattoo Parlor.
    The morning air was damp with a hint of winter on its breath. I started Old Yeller, made one stop along the way, then headed for the beauty parlor. I had to get my life back on track, starting with Apollo. If I could find him. He wasn't answering his cell or my texts. I knew only that he wasn't at his apartment. Understandable given the swarm of media vans clogging his street, paparazzi digging through his garbage, and reporters with microphones and camera crews waiting to pounce on him for a news-at-six sound bite.
    If he wasn't at work, maybe my mother or aunts knew his whereabouts. Any normal Friday, I could pull right into the Clip and Flip parking lot, but not today — for the same reason Apollo couldn't go home. I couldn't even drive past the shop. Lookie loos and reporters and vehicles jammed Logan Avenue and beyond as though the neighborhood was holding a chilly morning street fair sans "road closed" signs. Was the media just hoping Apollo would show up? Or was he there?
    One of the reporters spotted Old Yeller, pointed, shouted and heads and cameras began spinning toward me. I sped away. Six blocks south, I spied Apollo's orange VW and took heart. I parked beside it, shrugged into the collar of my windbreaker, and started walking. I carried a Daily Grind triple-shot, double mocha Grande with enough fuel power to start a hydroplane. Apollo's favorite. A peace offering.
    My stiletto heels clinked against the sidewalk and my breath came out in mini-fog puffs. I told myself that I would find Apollo, that he would talk to me, that I could make him see we'd committed the same lie of omission, that I was not guilty of any worse sin than his, and that I had as much right to be pissed at him as he was at me.
    And then we'd make up.
    He needed me.
    I really needed him.
    A block in, my cell rang. It was one of the sexy men who'd filled too much of my past week, interrogating me, luring me, and generally pissing me off. "I'm not speaking to you, Stone."
    "You called me."
    Okay, so I don't reason well when I'm pissed, and I was much more pissed at Stone than at my BFF. "You arrested Apollo."
    "Just doing my job."
    "You know he's innocent."
    "Evidence says otherwise."
    I crossed the street. Two blocks down, four to go. "Then he's being framed."
    Stoic Cop Silence.
    "Do you have evidence that he's a serial killer?"
    Louder Stoic Cop Silence.
    "Come on, Stone, you know you don't. Apollo is not running around killing gay men. He wouldn't kill anyone."
    I crossed another street. Three blocks more.
    "His father's in the State prison at Walla Walla for beating his mother to death," Stone said. "A kid grows up with that kind of violence is most likely to perpetuate violence."
    "Profiler-babble?" I hadn't thought I could get more pissed off. I'd been wrong. "Really, Stone? Really?"
    More Stoic Cop Silence. He could trademark it.
    "You know Apollo," I said. "He's not violent."
    "He had motive."
    Bull. "You mean those damned incriminating letters, don't you? What did Apollo write — that he was going to kill Lars?"
    Another silence, and then he said, "Ask Apollo."
    Sure. First thing. Soon as I find him. I crossed another street. Two blocks to go. "You tell me."
    "That's privileged, Jack."
    I stifled a scream of frustration. "You should