He’d been out for another long ride and his boots and bike were covered in mud. That’s all he’d done the past few days: ride. He had to keep moving, he said, to keep from going crazy. I knew how he felt. But it was my mind that had to be kept busy, rather than my body. I kept my grief at bay by working on the puzzle that surrounded Mama G’s death. By doing that I could distance myself, treat it as just another homicide. Except that it wasn’t.