Page 29

D.O.B.: September 15

10 3/4 years old

Nana Darling

AKA Bananarama Bonzai (racing name)

D.O.B.: January 27

4 years old

Behind me, I can feel Fox peering over my shoulder. More than that, I can feel the closeness of him, body heat almost radiating from him. And it occurs to me, not for the first time, how much bigger he is than I am. How he could. Overpower me, if he wanted to, or just hold me down, and⁠—

I’m not gay.

So what is he, then?

“It’s not exactly super detailed,” I hear myself saying, just to say something, “but I guess it’s more than I had before.”

“What is it, exactly?”

I breathe out. “I asked Wendy for information on her brothers. To help me…find who killed them.” I wince at the sound of my own words. “But I’m starting to regret offering.”

Fox looks genuinely confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I fold my arms. “I mean, sorry to sound morbid, but I don’t really know what would motivate someone to murder these guys in cold blood, you know? I don’t think like that. I feel like I need someone who understands…I don’t know, the criminal brain or something.” I rake my hand through my hair. What am I doing? I have no idea how to hunt down a killer.

“Don’t look at me,” Fox says. “I’m like petty property theft at best.”

I snort. “You’ve never roughed anyone up?”

“I mean, yeah, a few times.” He shrugs. “Mostly just ’cause they were messing with Kit. Not like, breaking kneecaps or whatever.”

The pad of paws and the jingle of tags pulls my gaze to the doorway. Nana walks in, sniffing around, maybe hot on the trail of my toast.

Fox keeps frowning at the paper, but reaches out a hand like an instinct to pat her head, and she gladly scoots under his fingers. “Hey girl,” he says, still staring straight ahead.

I look at the paper too. “Bananarama Bonzai,” I murmur. “Sheesh.”

Fox frowns.

“Her racing name?” I clarify, tapping the Nana section on Wendy’s little crib sheet.

“Oh yeah. Of course. Are you a little banana?” He ruffles the dog’s head around a little more, flapping her ears back and forth. “Banana nana. Banana nana.”

As he does, something clicks in my mind.

“Hang on.” I crouch down and smooth one of Nana’s ears in my own hand and flip it open. There, inside, on the smooth pink skin, threaded through with veins, is the ink. Her tattoo. An ID number of some kind, like Kit said.

“Here, can you write this down?” I say, and read it aloud to Fox.

“I—” He stammers a bit. “Uh…”

I jump back up, suddenly alive with ideas.

“I don’t have a pen?” he says at last.

“Oh, yeah. Fair.” I look back at the counter, at the silverware drawer, and bang it open, grabbing a stub of a pencil I saw before. “Here, I got it.”