“No way,” she said firmly and without hesitation. “I mean, you certainly can’t worry about Michael. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. And Trey’s an absolute sweetie.” An almost-shy smile filled her face. “He’s my boyfriend. And I know that normally would mean he’d be at the top of the list of suspects, but I swear, he’s the last person I’d ever need to worry about. He’s beyond harmless. I’ve never seen anyone so laid back. He doesn’t get upset about anything.”

I carefully masked my dubious expression. I’d heard that before.

“Trey’s a good kid,” Ben Moran said firmly. “Though I guess I shouldn’t call him a ‘kid,’ ” he added wryly. “He recently graduated from LSU with a degree in finance.”

I glanced down at my notebook. “What about Roger?” I asked Lida. “He’s the drummer, right?”

“Uh-huh, and he also does all of our equipment setup when we have a gig.” Then she shrugged. “But Roger would never get that bent out of shape over anything to do with the band.”

I cocked my head. “Why do you say that?”

Ben made an irritated sound. “Because he has his fingers in so many pies that he can’t focus on any of them.”

Lida grimaced, but then she gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah. I hate to slam Roger, but that about covers him. He’s a good drummer, and he likes being with the band, but we all know that eventually we’ll need to find a new drummer. It’s a hobby for him. And everyone’s cool with that.”

I wondered how cool “everyone” really was. “How’s Michael handling all of this?”

“He’s all right,” she said with a smile, though there was a edge of worry to it. “He’ll lose himself in his music for a while, which always calms him down.”

Ben cleared his throat softly. “Michael has a difficult time processing emotional situations. He’s come a long way since the accident, but there are times when he’s very fragile.”

“I’m sorry. What accident?” I asked, knowing that it was probably an insensitive question.

Lida took a steadying breath. “When Michael was twelve, he and I were out in the garage, helping our dad with one of his woodworking projects. It was a windy day . . . and the roof collapsed.” Grief filled her eyes and she looked away. “Dad was killed instantly. I had a broken leg and Michael was pretty badly hurt with a head injury.” She let out a shuddering breath. “He survived, but he suffered some brain damage as a result.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.

She tugged at her hair and looked back at us. “It’s all right. It was eight years ago—long enough that it’s not so hard to talk about.” She forced a small smile, but I’d seen the grief in her eyes.

She would have been eleven when she lost her father. The same age I’d been when mine was killed.

“But we’re lucky,” Lida continued. “Uncle Ben has taken really good care of us and made sure that Michael got the best care possible.”

“I take care of my family,” he said, giving her a warm smile. Then he looked up and past us. I glanced back to see Michael standing in the entrance to the upstairs hallway, gaze flicking rapidly over us and then to his sister as if begging for an explanation.

She rose and gestured to him. “C’mere, Michael,” she said with an encouraging smile. “The cops who saved me yesterday came by to say hi.”

His face cleared and he smiled broadly. “Hi!” he said with a wave. “I was playing piano.”

“I heard.” I gave him a smile as I stood. “It sounded beautiful.”

He beamed in response. “Lida’s writing new songs. I have to practice.” He waved again and then pivoted and disappeared down the hallway. A few seconds later the sound of piano resumed.

Ben let out an amused snort. “Michael has the attention span of a gnat,” he explained.

“Except when it comes to music,” Lida corrected.

Ben inclined his head to her in acknowledgment. “Except when it comes to music,” he agreed. “Then there’s no budging him unless he’s good and ready to be budged.”

I wanted to say something like, Well, at least he has that, but couldn’t think of a way to make it not sound stupid and patronizing.

“Well, we should probably leave you to enjoy your day,” I said instead, ducking the moment completely. “If you think of something that might help, or if anything happens again—anything at all—please let us know.” I pulled out a business card and handed it over to Lida.

Lida took it and tucked it into the front pocket of her jeans. “You bet. I really appreciate you coming by.”

“The same goes for me,” Ben Moran said with another warm smile as he accompanied us to the door. “And if the PD needs anything from me, be sure to have your chief give me a call.”

The way he’d phrased that sounded odd, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I contented myself with a polite nod, then exited the house with Ryan. A dark green Lexus SUV was parked in the driveway beside Ryan’s car now—Ben’s, I assumed.

“Thoughts?” Ryan asked as soon as we were back in his car.

I opened my notebook and pulled a pen out of my bag. “She doesn’t seem terribly upset about the whole thing. Not like someone who had an attempt made on her life.”

“I noticed that too,” he said, brows drawing together. “She was certainly shocked and scared when it happened.”

“Maybe she simply wasn’t expecting it?”

“So if it was a publicity stunt,” he said, “then it’s one that she had no prior knowledge of.”

“And maybe she knows about it now, which would explain why she doesn’t seem worried about a crazy stalker.” I pondered that for a few seconds. “Or maybe she did know about it at the time, but she didn’t expect it to go that far with the whole getting thrown in the river thing.”

“That’s possible too,” he agreed. “Also, it’s a little thing, but the last song was one that she didn’t play guitar for.”

“Ooohh, good point. A bit harder to snatch someone up if they’re plugged in to an amp.”

“And she might not want to risk getting the guitar banged up either.” He drove quietly for a few minutes. I could see thoughts working behind his eyes, and I gave him the time to work through whatever he was trying to figure out.

“Yep,” he finally said. “I’m fairly inclined to believe the publicity stunt angle. And if it was revealed now to be a stunt, that would be the wrong kind of publicity. Even if she wasn’t involved, she’d want to keep it quiet since she’d be hurt by the revelation that it was a scheme.”

“I like that theory,” I said. “Only one problem.”

He glanced at me. “The possibility that I’m wrong?”

I grinned. “Right. I mean, not that you’re ever wrong.”

“Never!”

“But, in that completely improbable circumstance when you were, then there’d still be a crazed stalker going after Lida.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “So little faith you have in my baseless hunches.”

“It’s a character flaw of mine,” I said with a shrug. “But, seriously, for all we know, Lida might currently be loaded to the gills with Xanax, which would help with the whole image of not being worried.”

He snorted. “Better living through chemistry. All right then, Zack and I’ll run down the threat posted on her website and see if our computer forensics people can get anything else to pop.”

“And I’ll drop by the station and do background checks on the band members and her manager.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. He turned onto the highway that led to my aunt’s house. “So what’s going on with your aunt’s portal to hell?”

I shuddered. “The only hell in my aunt’s house is the condition of her library.”

“That’s what I was referring to,” he said dryly.

I exhaled. “It’s all warded up and protected again, though I made sure that I was included in the wards this time.”

“But has she ever explained what it is?”

Frustration welled. “No. Every time I try to pin her down about it she changes the subject, or gives me some vague answer that makes no sense.”