Rich's promise came to fruition—the place he took me to eat was good. It was a local diner run by a woman named Daphne, and logically her diner was called Daphne's. I devoured a burger and fries before taking out my cellphone. "Before we go back," I said to Rich while we were sitting there, "I need to call my parents and tell them I'm okay." Truthfully, I was worried they would think I had murdered Mrs. Graham. I needed to assure them I hadn't, and I needed their assurance that everything was going to be okay.

Rich smiled a little knowingly, and I blushed. He probably knew my exact reasoning, but he didn't pursue the subject. "Go ahead," he told me. "I'll meet you in the car."

I slipped away from him and went outside. It didn't take long for my mom to answer. "Rosie!" she said, and I could hear the emotion in her voice. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mom," I said. "Rich bailed me out."

"Richard?" I could hear her surprise. I knew my parents and Rich's had never gotten along, and I understood her skepticism. "Where are you, Rose?"

"At Daphne's," I said. "Listen, we're trying to figure out who killed Mrs. Graham. Otherwise, I'll be arrested for something I didn't do."

"Rose, we'll hire a detective. You don't have to—"

"No one would take my case," I said sharply. I couldn't understand why my mother was being so ... hostile towards Rich. I didn't care what kind of arguments they'd had with my aunt and uncle in the past; Rich was helping me without any hope of payment. "Just Rich."

There was silence for a few moments. Then I ventured to say, "I'll be home for dinner tonight."

"About that," my mom said, and my heart fell. They didn't want me home? "Honey, there are reporters crawling all over the place here. Asking questions like 'Why did she do it?' and 'When will the killer get her just desserts?'. Maybe it would be best if you found somewhere else to stay until ... until this whole mess is cleared up."

I bit my lip, trying not to cry. I couldn't even go home because of this mess! Someone poked my arm, and I spun around. Rich was standing behind me sheepishly. "May I?" he said, holding out his hand. Silently I put my phone in his palm and he walked a few steps away. He spoke quietly and I couldn't hear what he was saying.

After what seemed like ages, Rich finished talking on the phone and came back over to me. He was smiling. "Here's your phone," he said, handing it over. "I've got good news—you can stay at my house until this whole thing blows over. No press, no chores, just relaxation. Sound good?"

I stared at him. "My parents don't like you," I blurted out.

"That is an unfortunate thing," Rich said with a sigh, "that can't be helped. Do you like me?"

"You're my cousin, stupid," I told him. "Of course I like you. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," he said, suddenly looking awkward. "Because your parents don't?"

I slapped him. He stared at me, surprised. "Idiot!" I yelled, not caring about the people giving me weird looks. "My parents don't rule my life! You're my cousin, we're connected by blood. You're risking your reputation to help me. You're backing me up when no one else will. How could I possibly not like you?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Because I'm odd?"

"Dude, if you weren't weird, you'd be weird," I said, knowing how ridiculous that sounded. "I like you, you like me, okay, that's awesome. Can we move past the mushy stuff and get back to the murder, please? I think we'd both be more comfortable with that arrangement." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to regain some of my equanimity.

Rich grinned. "You're probably the first person ever to say that," he commented. "Come on, let's get back to Mrs. Graham's. There's something I want to test."

I nodded. "Works for me. C'mon, chauffeur, drive me."

He looked offended. "I am not a chauffeur," he protested, but I was already running to the limo and I pretended not to hear him.