“He acted totally normal all day long! And then he leaves and shoots himself . . . ” I’m about to nod, but something catches in my brain—like a nail snagging on fabric. “Wait,” I say. “Josh came to work yesterday?” “Yeah,” Angela nods. “He was here all day.” “I thought he called in? Said he had the flu or something?” She frowns. “He definitely didn’t have the flu. He was strutting around like usual, giving Lucy shit over some letter she forgot to type up for him and complaining about the espresso machine.” “What time did he leave?” “I don’t know—about four or five o’clock? Early enough that I
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