“Duckworth.”

“It’s David Harwood,” I said. “I know you’d probably have called if you knew anything, but I wanted to check in.”

“I don’t have any news,” Duckworth said. His voice sounded guarded.

“You still have people searching?”

“We do, Mr. Harwood.” He paused. “I think, if there are no developments overnight, if Mrs. Harwood doesn’t come home, we should put out a release in the morning.”

I pictured her coming through the door here, into my parents’ house. There was a loud thunk from the other room as Ethan hit the floor again.

“Okay, good,” I said. “How about a news conference?”

“I don’t know that we’re at that stage,” he said. “I think a picture and a description of your wife and the circumstances of her disappearance will do for now.”

“I think we need a news conference,” I said.

“Let’s see where we are in the morning,” he said. There was something in his voice. It sounded controlled, held back.

“I might not be here in the morning,” I said.

“Where are you going to be?”

“Jan’s parents are in Rochester.”

Mom’s eyes widened when I said it. I’d never told her about the trip I’d made to see Jan’s childhood home.

With Duckworth, I continued, “She hasn’t had any contact with them in probably twenty years. They didn’t come to our wedding, they’ve never met their grandson. But I’m thinking, what if Jan decided to go see them? What if, after all this time, she had some reason to get in touch that she didn’t share with me? Maybe she just wanted to finally tell them what she thinks of them.”

Duckworth was quiet, saying only, “I suppose.”

“I’d phone them, but I’m worried about doing this any way but face-to-face. I mean, they’ve never set eyes on me. What are they going to think, some guy phones them and says he’s their son-in-law and oh, by the way, their daughter’s missing and is there any chance she might have dropped by? And if Jan is there, and doesn’t want me to know, I’m worried that if I call, she’ll take off.”

“Maybe,” Duckworth said with little conviction.

From the other room, Mom shouted at Ethan, “Enough!”

I said, “I’m probably going to hit the road in a couple of minutes, get a hotel in Rochester, and see Jan’s parents first thing in the morning.”

Instead of addressing my plans, Duckworth said, “Tell me again about your wife and Leanne Kowalski.”

The question threw me. “I told you. They work together. That’s about it.”

“What time did you and your son get to Five Mountains, Mr. Harwood?”

Why did he ask it that way? Why didn’t he ask when Ethan and I and Jan got to Five Mountains?

“I guess it was about eleven, maybe a little after. Didn’t they have it right down to the minute, when they scanned our ticket at the gate?”

“I think you’re right,” Duckworth said.

“Is something going on?” I asked. “Please tell me if something’s going on.”

“If I have any news, Mr. Harwood, I’ll be in touch. I have your cell number.”

I hung up the phone. Mom and Dad were both standing there, watching me.

“Jan told you about her parents?” Mom asked.

“I figured it out.”

“Who are they?”

“Horace and Gretchen Richler,” I said.

“Does Jan know you know?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to get into this. I leaned against the kitchen counter. I was exhausted.

“You need to get some rest,” Mom said.

“I’m going to Rochester,” I said.

“In the morning?”

“No, now.” I realized it was suddenly very quiet. “Where’s Ethan?”

“He collapsed on the couch,” Mom said. “Thank God.”

“Can he stay here for the night?”

“You can’t drive anywhere now,” Mom protested. “You’ll drive off the road.”

“Why don’t you make me a thermos of coffee to go while I say good night to Ethan,” I said.

Without waiting for any further protest, I went into the living room, where Ethan was resting his head on the end of the couch. He’d pulled a throw around himself.

“Gotta go, sport,” I said. “You’re staying here for the night.”

No reaction. His eyes suddenly looked heavy. “I’ll bet Mommy’s at the mall.”

“Maybe so,” I said.

“Okay,” he said, and his eyelids drifted down like flower petals closing for the night.

Barry Duckworth closed the phone and said to Lyall Kowalski, “Sorry about that.”

“Was that Jan’s husband?” he asked. He and the detective were sitting in his living room. Lyall was in a black T-shirt and dirty, knee-length shorts with pockets all over them. Duckworth wondered whether Lyall had gone prematurely bald at age thirty-five, or whether he shaved his head. Some guys, once they started losing some hair, decided to go the whole nine yards with it, make a fashion statement.

Even before he saw the pit bull coming out of the kitchen, Duckworth knew there was a dog here. The house was permeated with the smell of pooch.

“Yes, that was him,” Duckworth said.

“Has he seen my wife?”

“No,” Duckworth said, but thinking, At least he’s not saying he has. There were things about this case that were starting to bother him, even before he’d learned that Jan Harwood’s workmate was missing, too.

“Tell me again what time your wife left the house,” Duckworth said.

Lyall Kowalski was leaning forward on the couch, elbows on his knees. “Okay, so she was actually gone before I got up. I got in kind of late last night and was sleeping in.”

“Where had you been?”

“I was at the Trenton.” A local bar. “With some friends. We had a few, and Mick gave me a lift home.”

“Mick?”

“Mick Angus. We work together at Thackeray.”

“What do you do at the college, Mr. Kowalski?”

“We’re both in building maintenance.”

“So you got home when?”

Lyall scrunched up his face, trying to remember. “Three? Or maybe five.”

“And your wife was here when you got home?”

“As far as I know,” he said, nodding.

“What do you mean, as far as you know?”

“Well, there’s no reason to think that she wasn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t actually talk to her. I didn’t make it as far as the bedroom. I camped out on the couch.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Leanne gets kinda bitchy when I come home drunk. Actually, she’s kind of bitchy even when I’m sober. Plus, I kinda forgot I was supposed to take her out to dinner last night. So I didn’t want to have to deal with that, so I didn’t get into bed with her.”

“Were you at the Trenton all night?”

“I think so. Except after they closed, I had a couple of drinks in the parking lot with Mick.”

“Who drove you home?” Duckworth said disapprovingly.

Lyall waved his hands at Duckworth, like it was no big deal. “Mick can drink a lot and still drive better than most people sober.”

“Where were you supposed to go for dinner?”

“Kelly’s?” he said, like he was asking Duckworth for confirmation. “I know I said something on Thursday about taking her there for dinner but it slipped my mind.”

“Did you talk to your wife at all last night, while you were at Trenton’s?”

“My cell was dead.”

“So you fell asleep on the couch. Did you see your wife in the morning?”

“Okay, that’s the thing? I think I might have heard her saying something to me while I was sleeping it off, but I can’t exactly swear to it.”

“So what does your wife usually do on a Saturday?”

“She kind of has a routine. She goes out around eight-thirty. Most weekends, she goes out by herself, even if I haven’t been out with my buds the night before. I’ve offered to go with her sometimes, but only because I know she’ll say no. She kinda likes to go on her own. I don’t take any offense or anything.”

“Where does she go?” Duckworth asked.

“To the malls. She likes to go to all of them. Every damn one between here and Albany. She likes Crossgates and Colonie Center. How much clothes and shoes and jewelry and makeup does one woman need?”