"The only people I'm thinking of are Sammi and Destiny, and getting justice – "

"All right. But still? Tearing you up. Too close to home. If Janie did this?" He shook his head. "Never pulled a hit for free. But I'd do it for this. And I didn't even know the girl. You did. All I'm saying? You need to step back. Before you do something you'll regret."

We finished our pie in silence.

"So what's the plan?" I said finally.

He studied me before moving his plate aside. "Go alone. Make sure she doesn't see me. Change my accent. Tell her I was sent by the boy's parents."

"The Draytons."

"Yeah. Get details before I go. Say they heard Destiny's gone. Want her back. Play it out a bit. Threats don't work? Draytons are offering to buy the baby."

"Skip the threats and head straight for the cash. Greed is the way to Janie's heart. Offer more than she would have gotten, then promise to stage it as a kidnapping, so her partner won't suspect anything and she'll get the whole wad."

He sipped his coffee. "You're good with that?"

I set my plate on his, then fiddled with a stray piece of broken wicker, sticking it back into the weave. "Re mem ber how we played it with Cooper in Kentucky? We didn't want him seeing you, so you stayed offside, giving me backup while I took him down and interrogated him."

"You want to do that? You stay offside?"

I nodded.

"All right." Another sip. "She confesses? You want her gone? Have to go prepared."

I stared out at the lake, watching a loon bob on the waves. If Janie had Sammi killed, did I want her dead? No. That was too easy. I'd rather see her rot in jail and burn up in headlines as a woman who killed her own daughter for profit. That might not hurt right away – her hide was too thick – but maybe after she dried out, she'd feel something.

"If we get a confession, I'll figure out a way to set the cops on her," I said. "Knowing Janie, she's left a trail so wide even the local idiots shouldn't be able to screw up a conviction."

"If you change your mind…"

"I won't." I looked at him. "But let's not take any body-disposal supplies, in case I'm tempted."

I continued going through the motions, hosting the bonfire, closing the house for the night, staying up another half hour in case guests needed anything. Normally the extra wait is just a precaution in case of emergencies. Most guests respect my need to get to bed if I'm going to be up at six for the jog. Not so with the Previls, who needed towels, fresh pillows, glasses of water… I was just waiting for them to request a tuck-in and bedtime story.

Jack had moved the truck earlier. So at two, we snuck off in silence. Everything went fine until we reached Janie's house and found the windows dark and her truck gone.

We stood in the shadows, watching the house.

"Guess those bottles were a victory celebration for two," I said. "She must have gone into Bancroft to see her boyfriend."

"We shouldn't follow."

"I wasn't going to suggest it. But as long as the place is vacant, let's take a look."

Jack hesitated.

"We can check for evidence that she killed Sammi or sold Destiny. And, while we're at it, I'll see whether Sammi left anything about that photographer. Maybe a business card."

The last part tipped the balance. Proof that I wasn't single-mindedly focused on my Janie theory. Proof that I was still in control.

We took a quick look around, in case Janie was passed out on the sofa or bed, and somehow had remembered to turn out the lights first. Then we split up. Jack took Janie's room. I returned to Sammi's.

I meticulously searched the tiny bedroom, right down to unwrapping every gum wrapper in the trash, in hopes of finding a phone number or name scribbled inside. I was pulling Destiny's baby book off the shelf when a flurry of photos and paper scraps rained down. Two of the pictures landed face up. One was of a party for Destiny, with three candles in a cupcake, Sammi grinning as Kira held a homemade Happy 3 Months banner. In the other, Sammi sat in a Muskoka chair, holding a sleeping baby, scowling, clearly warning whoever was taking the photo that they'd better not wake Destiny. I stared at them both for a moment, then picked up the second – the Sammi I knew best – and gingerly pushed it into my pocket.

I scooped up the handful of scraps and flipped through them. Sammi's penmanship was atrocious, her spelling phonetic. On the first, she'd written "First dentist appointment 3-4 years." On another she'd scribbled "Chicken pox vaccine 12 months (safe?)."

I read through several more. Each held a tidbit of child-rearing information, a tip someone had told her or she'd heard on TV. Scraps tracing the path of a young woman's desperate desire to be a good mother.

Then I found what I'd been looking for. On one scrap Sammi had written four words. Jordan Fifer Model Agency.

I put that into my pocket and tidied up the book. As I did, my gaze fell on Sammi's treasure box. I reached for it, the sudden urge to take it, too, to bury it with her body. Ridiculous, of course. Sentimental tripe. Not like she'd be needing it anymore. And if Janie had her daughter killed, I had every intention of tipping off the police and making sure Sammi's body saw a real grave. Finding her treasures buried with her would suggest Janie regretted her decision, and I wasn't giving her that.

The box had to stay. But whatever happened, I'd make sure Tess got it out before the place was bulldozed.

Now -

Jack wheeled into the room. "Clean up. Gotta go. Now."

"Wha -?"

He grabbed my arm before I got the word out, and led me into the hall.

Through the living room door, a stockinged foot protruded from behind the sofa, unseen when we'd been heading into the bedrooms.

I crept forward, gaze fixed on the dingy white sock. Soon a tattered jean hem came into view. Then a second foot. Then Janie herself, passed out drunk.

My gaze traveled up her body, past the stick-thin legs encased in dirty denim. Past the flabby belly protruding from under the shirt shoved up around her rib cage. Past her arms, oddly folded across her chest, fingers bent, as if in a "fuck you." A final "fuck you." I knew that as soon as I saw her head, askew, eyes still open, tongue protruding from swollen lips, bruise on her cheek.

"Beat the crap out of her," Jack said. "Neck's broken." I supposed I should feel some twinge of pity, but the only emotion that rose was a surge of outrage that someone had robbed me of my best shot at finding out what happened to Destiny.

I returned to the bedroom to put everything back in place. When I came out, Jack was crouched beside Janie's body.

"Couple fingers broken. She have rings?" I paused, recollecting. "Costume stuff, but yes. A few." "Bottle's over there." He jerked his thumb at an empty Crown Royal bottle on the carpet. "One missing, looks like."

I walked over, staying away from the window, and found two empty glasses and two bottle caps. "So he swipes her cheap rings and an open bottle of rye, shoves her behind the couch, and takes off… in her truck. Something tells me we aren't dealing with a pro."

A snort that was almost a laugh. "Yeah." He straightened. "I'll watch the front. Get out the back. Stand guard for me. Be there in five."