Officer Villarreal scowled. “Only if you conduct yourself appropriately and the homeowner agrees.”

Officer Dayne interjected, “This isn’t a game, Ms. Rosato.”

Bennie inched to the window. “I swear, it’s Alice’s house. Please let me out, I want to see it.”

Five minutes later, Bennie was looking around the kitchen, dumbfounded. The chairs sported flowery pads, and family photographs sat on a table, and there was even a window air conditioner. She realized instantly that Alice had merely used the house and told the officers as much, though they withheld judgment. They introduced her to the homeowner, one Sally Cavanaugh, an older woman with bright eyes, short gray hair, and a loose-fitting shift that read SO MANY BOOKS, SO LITTLE TIME.

Bennie turned to her. “Ms. Cavanaugh, were you at home on Friday night?”

“No, I was on vacation, in the Poconos. I came home early because the weather was bad.”

“Where there any signs of forced entry? Broken screen, an open window?”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Cavanaugh gestured at the cops. “As I told the officers, this is just the way I left it. Everything’s in order. I never like to come home to a messy house. It’s too depressing.”

“Can I see your wineglasses?”

“Why not?” Mrs. Cavanaugh went to the cabinet and reached for a glass in the front row, but Bennie stopped her with her bandaged right hand.

“Wait, they could be evidence.”

Officer Villarreal came over. “Wouldn’t she have washed them before she put them back?”

“Yes, but how careful could she have been? She didn’t expect me to live, and she could have washed them by hand. If you test them, I’ll bet you’ll find some latent prints and drug residue.”

“Drugs?” Cavanaugh’s hand flew to her mouth. “Uh-oh. We used those glasses last night.”

“What?” Bennie asked, dismayed.

“My book club came over, and it’s time to pick the books for the year, and well, you know how that goes.” Cavanaugh smiled sheepishly. “Janey gets a little carried away, and so do I. We had some vino to smooth things over.”

“So you washed the glasses?”

“Of course. I did wash them by hand.” Cavanaugh turned to the cops. “What type of drug was it?”

Officer Villarreal answered, “Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. May I ask, do you have a paper bag?”

“Yes, right here.” Mrs. Cavanaugh fetched one from a stack behind the microwave and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” Officer Villarreal accepted the bag and reached for the wineglass, but Bennie grabbed a paper napkin and handed it to him.

“You might want to use this.”

Cavanaugh said, “Yes, I saw that on Law & Order. Wait’ll I tell my book club. We’re going to read a mystery this month, and now we’re in one.”

Officer Villarreal put the glasses into the bag. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Cavanaugh, and we’re sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to Bennie. “Time to go.”

“No, I’d like to see the rest of the house, and I have more questions.”

“We do the police work in Cambridge County. Thanks for your help, though.”

“It’ll just take a minute. There might be clues as to where Alice went.”

“I said, we have to go.”

“But we need to find her. God knows where she could be, by now. We’re here, and if we looked around and-”

“No.” Officer Villarreal put a heavy hand on Bennie’s shoulder, steered her to the door, and ushered her outside, where he handed the evidence bag to Officer Dayne and stowed her in the backseat, his smile cooler. He had given her a chance in the hospital, but he was losing faith.

“Why don’t you call the farmer who found me? You talked to him already. Ask him where he picked me up, then I can show you the box she buried me in, in the field.”

“We’re a step ahead of you, Philly.”

“You mean we’re going now?”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to find Alice, as soon as we’re done.”

“Please, sit back.” Officer Villarreal closed the cruiser door, went around the front, and got in, twisting on the ignition.

Bennie shifted toward the metal divider. “Also, Officer Villarreal, could you call dispatch again about my car? Maybe it’s been spotted.”

“We already put the APB out. If it turns up, we’ll hear about it.”

Officer Villarreal accelerated, Officer Dayne manned the police radio, and Bennie sat back, left to her thoughts. The box in the field would prove her story. The cops would see the tunnel, the broken lid, the pieces of her clothes. They might even find blood samples, hair, and fibers that could lead them to Alice.

Officer Villarreal hit the gas as they sped along one-lane roads for almost twenty more minutes. Humid air blew into the backseat as they whizzed past clapboard farm houses, tall blue silos, soybean fields, and black Amish buggies, their drivers’ faces hidden under the brims of straw hats, their bay horses lathery with sweat. She noticed a commotion down the road, where police saw horses blocked the street and traffic was being detoured. An array of cruisers, newsvans, and pickup trucks sat parked along the side, until the road veered out of sight. Over the ridge, a hazy gray cloud puffed into the blue sky like a random thunderhead.

“What’s going on?” Bennie asked, and Officer Villarreal slowed to a stop in front of the roadblock, put the cruiser in park, and turned around, his eyes hard.

“Why don’t you tell us? We’re less than a mile from where you were found.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Why are we stopping? Let’s go see the box.”

Officer Dayne snorted. “The box, eh?”

Officer Villarreal shook his head, his lips flat. “We can’t go any farther. It’s the biggest fire we’ve ever had in the county. Somebody torched a field of hay rolls. It’s a disaster.”

Bennie was stunned. She couldn’t process it fast enough.

“The fire burned all night. We only got it put out an hour ago. It took fire trucks from thirty different counties, and police from all the surrounding counties. That’s why it took so long for us to get to you. Five firefighters sent to the hospital, so far, for exhaustion. No fatalities, luckily. So far, it burned up almost three hundred acres, untold property damages, $140,000 in lost hay and near $75,000 in equipment. An almost-new John Deere harvester burned up.”

Bennie flashed on the hay rolls, then the harvester she’d seen, parked.

“There’s no houses around here, or people would have been killed.”

Bennie knew what must have happened. She felt sick inside, not only for the lost evidence, but for the damage. Alice had scorched the earth to destroy the evidence of that box.

Officer Villarreal took a deep breath. “Now, Ms. Rosato. Do you want to tell us what really happened last night?”

Alice strode to the security desk, followed by Grady and Mary, and flashed a smile at Steve. “Good news, pal. We’re just back from court, where Mary got a restraining order against Connelly, so she’s not permitted within a hundred feet of us, the tenants, the clients, or the building.”

“Good. If we see her, we call the cops, then you.”

“Also, we ordered extra security, to backstop you. Rothman Corporate.” As Alice spoke, she slid the log book toward her, forged Bennie’s signature, and signed Grady in, as her guest. “They should be here any minute.”

“We know those guys. They’re retired cops, too, most of ’em from the Fifth.”

“Now, I still have a business to run, and new clients, Rexco, coming in at two o’clock. Keep it low key if nothing is going on.” Alice slid the log book to Mary. “Sign yourself in, champ, and give Steve a copy of the court order.”

“Will do.” Mary opened up her canvas briefcase, withdrew a few copies of the order, handed them over, and signed herself in. “One is for you, and the Rothman guys will need one, too.”