“You can count on it.” He tightened the chest strap of his backpack. “Hold the fort, Dr. Isles. I promise I’ll be back with the cavalry.”

She watched from the porch as he headed up the road. The day had already warmed into the twenties, and not a cloud was visible in the sky. If he was going to attempt the journey, today was the day to do it.

The door suddenly opened and Elaine came flying out of the house. She had already said her goodbye to Doug moments earlier, but here she was again, running to catch up with him, running as though her life depended on it. Maura could not hear their conversation, but she saw Elaine pull off the cashmere scarf she always wore and gently drape it around Doug’s neck as a parting gift. They embraced, a hug that seemed to last forever. Then Doug was on his way, climbing up the rutted road that led out of the valley. Only when he’d rounded the bend and vanished behind the trees did Elaine finally turn back to the house. She climbed the porch steps to where Maura was standing but didn’t say a word, just brushed past her and walked inside, shutting the door behind her.

EVEN BEFORE DETECTIVE QUEENAN INTRODUCED HIMSELF, JANE would have pegged him as a cop. He stood beside a snow-covered Toyota in the parking lot of the Mountain Lodge, conversing with a man and a woman. As Jane and her party climbed out of their rental car and approached the Toyota, it was Queenan who turned to look at them, watching with the alert gaze that characterized a man whose job was all about observation. In every other way he seemed ordinary-balding, overweight, his mustache streaked with the first hints of gray.

“Are you Detective Queenan?” said Gabriel.

The man nodded. “You must be Agent Dean.”

“And I’m Detective Rizzoli,” said Jane.

Queenan frowned at her. “ Boston PD?”

“Homicide unit,” she said.

“Homicide? Aren’t you folks kind of jumping the gun here? We don’t know that any crime’s been committed.”

“Dr. Isles is a friend of ours,” said Jane. “She’s a reliable professional, and she wouldn’t go missing on a whim. We’re all concerned about her welfare.”

Queenan turned to look at Brophy. “And are you with Boston PD, too?”

“No, sir,” said Brophy. “I’m a priest.”

At that, Queenan gave a startled laugh. “A fibbie, a cop, and a priest. Now, that’s a team I haven’t seen before.”

“What have you got so far?” Jane asked.

“Well, we have this,” Queenan said, and he pointed at the parked Toyota where two people stood, watching the conversation. The man was named Finch, and he worked as a security guard for the lodge. The woman was an employee with the Hertz rental car agency.

“This Toyota ’s been parked here since at least Friday night,” said Finch. “Hasn’t been moved.”

“You confirmed that on surveillance video?” asked Jane.

“Uh, no, ma’am. Cameras don’t cover this lot.”

“Then how do you know it’s been here that long?”

“Look at the snow piled up on it. We had a big storm on Saturday that dumped almost two feet, which is about what I see on this car.”

“This is Maura’s car?”

The Hertz lady said, “The rental contract for this vehicle was made out to a Dr. Maura Isles. It was booked online three weeks ago, and she picked it up last Tuesday. Paid for it with an AmEx card. It was supposed to be returned to our airport lot yesterday morning.”

“She didn’t call to extend the rental?” asked Gabriel.

“No, sir.” The woman pulled a key ring out of her pocket and looked at Queenan. “Here’s that spare key you wanted, Detective.”

Queenan pulled on a set of latex gloves and unlocked the front passenger door. Gingerly he leaned inside and opened the glove compartment, where he found the rental contract. “Maura Isles,” he confirmed, scanning the papers. He peered at the odometer. “Looks like she put in about ninety miles. Not much driving for a six-day rental.”

“She was here for a medical conference,” said Jane. “And she was staying at this hotel. She probably didn’t get much of a chance for sightseeing.” Jane peered through the window, careful not to touch the glass. Except for a folded USA Today lying on the front passenger seat, the interior looked spotless. Of course it would be; Maura was a neatness freak, and Jane had never spied so much as a stray Kleenex in her Lexus. “What’s the date on that newspaper?” she asked.

Queenan unfolded the USA Today. “It’s last Tuesday’s.”

“The day she flew here,” said Brophy. “She must have picked it up at the airport.”

Queenan straightened. “Let’s take a look in the trunk,” he said. He circled to the rear, brushed off the snow, and pressed the unlock button on the remote. They all gathered around to watch, and Jane noticed Queenan hesitate before reaching down with a gloved hand to lift open the trunk. The same thought was probably going through all their heads at that moment. A missing woman. An abandoned vehicle. Too many surprises had been found in car trunks, too many horrors folded like embryos inside steel wombs. In these freezing temperatures, there would be no odors to alert anyone, no olfactory clues of what might lie inside. As Queenan lifted the trunk, Jane felt her breath catch in her throat. She stared into the now revealed space.

“Empty and clean as a whistle,” said Queenan, and she heard relief in his voice. He looked at Gabriel. “So we have a rental car that looks to be in good shape, and no luggage. Wherever your friend went, she took her stuff with her. That sounds like a planned jaunt to me.”

“Then where is she?” said Jane. “Why isn’t she answering her cell phone?”

Queenan looked at her as though she were merely an irritating distraction. “I don’t know your friend. Maybe you have a better handle on that answer than I do.”

The Hertz lady said, “When can we get this vehicle back? It’s part of our fleet.”

“We’ll need to hold on to it for a while,” said Queenan.

“How long?”

“Until we decide if a crime has actually been committed. At the moment, I’m not sure.”

“Then how do you explain her disappearance?” said Jane.

Once again, that flicker of irritation passed through his eyes when he looked at her. “I said I’m not sure. I’m keeping an open mind, ma’am. How about we all try doing that?”

“I CAN’T SAY I really remember this particular guest,” said Michelle, a desk clerk at the Mountain Lodge. “But then, we had two hundred doctors, plus their families, staying here last week. There’s no way I could have kept track of everyone.”

They had crowded into the manager’s office, which was barely large enough to hold them all. The manager stood near the door with his arms crossed as he watched the interview. It was his presence, more than the questions, that seemed to make Michelle nervous, and she kept glancing toward her boss, as if afraid he’d disapprove of her answers.

“Then you don’t recognize her picture?” Queenan asked, tapping on the official photo that Jane had printed off the Massachusetts medical examiner’s website. It was an image of a somber professional. Maura gazed directly at the camera, her mouth neutral and unsmiling-appropriate for the line of work she was in. When one’s job involved slicing open the dead, a broad grin would be unsettling.

Michelle studied the photo again with self-conscious diligence. She was young, in her midtwenties, and having so many people watching would make it difficult for anyone to concentrate. Especially when one of those people was your boss.

Jane said to the manager, “Would you mind stepping out, sir?”

“This is my office.”

“We only need to borrow it for a short time.”

“Since this business involves my hotel, I think I should know exactly what’s going on.” He looked at the clerk. “Do you remember her or not, Michelle?”

The young woman gave a helpless shrug. “I can’t be sure. Are there any other pictures?”