“Oooh. I’ll put it in the pile with the compressor junk.”

Lon handed it back and sat down on the opposite side of him.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Depends,” he said, turning to Lon. “Am I in trouble for talking to her?”

“I told you no already.”

“Just making sure. Where’s Gramma and Auntie?”

“They went to talk to her.”

“Oh.” He stretched out long legs and tossed the manual onto the floor.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Jupe.”

He shrugged. “I know. But it’s not wrong to hope. That’s what you’ve said before—not about her, but it still applies, right?”

Lon made a frustrated noise.

“What do you think, Cady?” Jupe asked, long-lashed eyes looking up to mine.

“God, I don’t know.” What was I supposed to say here? “I guess I’ve heard too many stories about her. She makes me feel angry for the two of you, and a little jealous, too.”

His nose wrinkled up. “Why would you be jealous?”

God, was I really allowing myself to be dragged into this? “Because she’s beautiful and—” And what? What was I going to say? That, hey, your father probably fucked her brains out God knows how many times over the years? He’d been in crazy in love with her, and—unlike Lon and I with our you’re-my-favorite-person code—the two of them probably professed their undying supermodel-photographer love, before everything went bad. They’d slept in the same bed, and maybe he even cooked dinner for her, like he did for me.

And, then, the big one: she gave birth to you. Because of that, Lon and Yvonne shared a bond that Lon and I didn’t have. How does a person compete with a couple’s history that would never be left in the past?

But I didn’t say any of that. I just said, “I’m jealous because you both loved her.”

“You don’t understand,” Jupe said. “She’s messed up, bad.” He tapped his temple. “Wrong in the head.”

“I know,” I said. “And I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and sighed. I looked across his skinny frame and caught Lon staring at me, concern tightening his brow.

I picked up Jupe’s hand and slid my palm against his, spreading out his fingers to line up with mine. “I just want you to be happy. I think your dad does, too. That’s all.”

“I am. It’s just . . . hard to explain,” he finally finished.

I nodded.

He threaded slender fingers through mine. “You’re staying home tonight, right?”

“Yes.” Oh, yes. I was. If I’d had any doubts about that before Yvonne walked in the restaurant, they were long gone. I might never let Lon out of my sight again.

Lon ran his palm over Jupe’s forehead, pushing back curls. “What do you say we go watch TV in the living room? That crack in your screen is driving me nuts.”

Jupe glanced at the old television set, where Jack the Pumpkin King was announcing his plans to usurp Sandy Claws. “You said that crack added character.”

“I lied.” Lon slapped his son’s leg and stood up. “Come on. If we hurry, we can watch something R-rated before Gramma comes back and stops us.”

“What about Black Christmas?” Jupe said with a big cheesy smile.

“Only if Cady says yes.”

Jupe turned his eager smile on me. Like I was going to say no to anything at this point. “Is this a horror movie?”

“It’s made by the same guy who made A Christmas Story. It’s great!”

Lon crossed his arms over his chest. “And . . .” he prodded.

“And it’s a slasher flick from 1974. Sorority house murders.” He waggled his brows.

“Go find it and meet us in the living room.”

“Woo-hoo!” Jupe sailed off the couch and exited the garage with Foxglove running alongside. For the moment, everything was temporarily patched up in his teenage mind. And I was okay with that. I wished like hell a movie could do the same for me.

“I hate to bring it up, but I still need to call Hajo,” I said to Lon as he helped me off the couch.

“Hajo,” he repeated, as if it were a dirty word. But I could tell by the look on his face that he was a little relieved to change the subject. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood to rehash Yvonne anymore; I damn sure wasn’t. “Go on and get it over with,” he said. “Maybe the boy can actually help us out.”

“He’s my age, you know. Not a boy.”

“Don’t remind me.” He slung his arm around my shoulders. “And if he won’t talk about it on the phone, try to arrange a meeting with him in the afternoon.”

A drug dealer and user, Hajo hated talking about anything remotely illegal on the phone. “Why afternoon?”

“Because Merrimoth’s funeral is tomorrow morning, and I should probably go.”

A cool, dark anger prickled my thoughts. “Why? Have you been talking to Dare?”

“Nope. Not a word,” he said. “I’m only going because it’s the right thing to do. You don’t have to come with me.”

Maybe not right, exactly, but paying respect to someone you knew is normal. But me? Paying respect to someone I had a hand in killing? Not so much. I thought about it as I left a message for Hajo and headed back into the house. Normal or not, I damn sure wasn’t going to let Lon go to the funeral alone. Just because I’d quit working for Dare didn’t mean I had to avoid every demon in the Hellfire Club. Nearly impossible in La Sirena, anyway. And it was part of Lon’s past, whether I liked it or not. Part of mine, too.