the police.
The dispatcher asked whether I was in immediate danger.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But the bouquet has one hundred yellow roses and three of them are marked.”
Two officers arrived within an hour. They examined the flowers politely, clearly wondering whether I was frightened by an innocent mistake.
Then a dark sedan pulled into the driveway.
A silver-haired detective named Kellan entered the house. When I mentioned my father’s name, his expression changed.
“I worked with him,” he said.
Kellan approached the bouquet.
The instant he saw
