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that night. And I’m not leaving until you tell me.” I pulled back my shoulders and stuck out my chin. It was a sad display of bravado since I think we both knew that if he’d advanced toward me, I would have run screaming for my car. Maybe that’s why he seemed to soften up just a bit, his shoulders sagging, his eyes on the driveway.
    “Ancient history,” he said. “They’re all dead now.”
    “Yes,” I said. “Lana, Race, and Max . . . they’re all gone. But I’m still here and I need to know what you saw that night.”
    He let out a short, unpleasant laugh. “Well, who the fuck are you ?”
    “I’m Max’s daughter.” I almost choked on those words; they tasted so much like a lie on my tongue. He didn’t say anything, just turned his dark, suspicious eyes on me. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t believe me or if he just didn’t care. I felt him examining me, looking for signs of Max in my face. A blizzard of snowflakes had collected in his hair and the beard that covered most of his face.
    “Let the dead lie, girl,” he said, and turned away from me.
    I raised my voice and called after him. “You said you saw someone else kill Lana. You said Race wasn’t even home when she died. If that was true, why did you wait until after he was convicted to say anything?”
    He stopped in his tracks but he didn’t turn around.
    “Please,” I said more quietly. “I need to know what happened that night. They’re all dead now, Mr. Smiley. What harm could it do to tell me the truth?”
    He turned around to look at me, then glanced uneasily up and down the street. There was no one about, no one standing in a window watching. I was really feeling the cold work its way into my center; I started to shiver. Then something in his face went from angry to sad. I wasn’t sure what changed his mind about talking to me; to this day, I still don’t know. Maybe I looked as pathetic and desperate as I felt. Maybe he didn’t want me to make a scene in his driveway. But he began walking toward the house and motioned for me to follow. Then it was my turn to change my mind. Maybe he was just luring me into his house to kill me, or tie me up in his basement, or something equally terrifying. I hesitated as he disappeared around the side of the house. Finally, curiosity got the better of me. I hurried after him.
    “People know I’m here,” I said as I caught up to him. Unfortunately, this was a complete lie. The truth was no one even knew I was in Detroit. If I were to go missing, how long would it take people to notice I was gone, to track me here?
    Tall hedges separated his property from his neighbor’s; round concrete blocks acted as a path. He walked through a side door that led into a neat kitchen that looked as if it hadn’t been updated in decades. I followed him over the threshold and shut the door behind me, but kept my hand on the knob. He walked over to the sink and filled a kettle with water, placed it on the stove, and turned on the burner.
    “You gonna sit?” he asked me.
    “No,” I said. “I’d rather stand.” I was nervous.
    “I never knew Max had a daughter,” he said, his back to me as he stared out a window over the sink.
    “I didn’t know until last year, after he died. It’s a long story. I was raised by other people. In fact, you probably know the man who raised me, Benjamin Jones.”
    He nodded slowly, seemed to take in the information. “Bennie Jones. We came up together right on this street. He was a good kid. Haven’t seen him in years. Decades.”
    We were silent a minute. I could hear the water in the kettle, little clinks in the metal pot as it changed temperature. I realized it wasn’t much warmer in the house than it had been outside. I looked around at the old wallpaper patterned with little cornices overflowing with fruit, the yellowed Formica countertops, the green tiled floor.
    “Tea?” he asked. I was surprised by the civility of his offer.
    “Sure,” I said.