ABBY PULLED UP in front of the East Long Beach house a little before six. She’d picked up her phone three times to call Murphy and cancel, scrolling through her contacts each time but stopping before dialing his number.

What am I thinking, going to his house?

In the end, the desire to learn what he knew overrode her discomfort. She scooped up Bandit and got out of her car, keeping an eye on two young girls playing basketball in the driveway. Which one is Murphy’s daughter? she wondered.

As she walked toward the house, the taller of the two girls, with a long blonde ponytail bouncing, skipped toward the house.

“Dad, your friend’s here!” She then turned toward Abby. “Can I pet your dog?”

“Sure,” Abby said as the two girls charged her way. The taller girl was definitely Murphy’s; the eyes confirmed it. Abby liked kids, worked in the nursery at church when she was able, and smiled as the girls got close.

“His name is Bandit,” she said, anticipating their question.

“He’s soooo cute!” both girls cooed at the same time the front door opened and Murphy stepped out onto the porch.

“Can I hold him?” Murphy’s daughter asked.

Since Bandit seemed to be enjoying the attention, Abby said yes and handed her the little dog. His tail wagged ferociously, and when he began to lick their faces, the girls giggled.

“Detective Hart.” Murphy stepped off the porch, a smile on his face. “Glad you could make it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as his daughter turned to him with Bandit next to her cheek.

“Look, Daddy, he’s so cute. Can’t we get a dog like this?”

Murphy grimaced. “We’ll talk about it some other time. Right now you and Olivia need to wash up for dinner.”

“But I want to hold Bandit.”

“Later, I promise.” Murphy’s tone was firm, and Abby wondered if she’d made a mistake bringing the dog. She’d felt bad because she’d left him all day while she was at work. She didn’t want to leave him all evening as well.

The girl made a face but handed the dog back to Abby and turned to go inside.

Murphy stopped her. “Just a minute.” He gestured to Abby. “Detective Abby Hart, this is my daughter, Madison, and her friend Olivia.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Madison said, holding out her little hand.

“Likewise,” Abby said. She shook two small hands, first Madison’s, then Olivia’s, then watched as the girls ran into the house.

“Sorry if bringing the dog created a problem for you,” she said, facing Murphy.

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Kids sometimes want everything they see. That’s the dog from the other night, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. I forgot you would have seen Bandit then. I didn’t have the heart to dump him off at animal control.”

“Rollins did say that you could do what you thought best.”

“I’m glad I got that out of him before he fled.”

Murphy’s mouth cocked into a lopsided smile. “He sure left in a hurry, didn’t he? Makes me wonder about some things.”

“Me too,” Abby said. Her gaze shifted when she saw movement over Murphy’s shoulder. An older woman had stepped out of the front door.

“Luke, dinner is ready.”

With those words Abby found herself following Luke Murphy into a house and a dinner with a family she would have avoided like the plague if it hadn’t been for the Triple Seven investigation.

To solve the murders of her parents, Abby knew she’d step into any and every situation no matter how uncomfortable. Or dangerous, she realized, as Woody’s fear and warnings echoed in her mind.