Jonah glanced at the clock on his desk and raised his eyebrows at the judge. “Thanks. Aren’t you going out a little late? It’ll be dark in another hour.”

“Full moon. I get some of my best fishing then. And it’s so peaceful. I very much enjoy being alone with the fish and my thoughts.”

“Well, I hope you get lucky,” Jonah told him.

Words that would haunt him for a long time.

—

AS HE HAD every night since the young couple had disappeared, Jonah worked late, going over and over information already burned into his brain, hoping to see something he’d missed, overlooked, or misunderstood every other time he’d studied it.

Nothing. Not a clue where those kids had gone.

Or where they had been taken.

Or any answer to the fairly spooky question of why both his watch and Sarah’s watch and Tim’s had stopped when each of them had reached the abandoned car, and why all their cell phones, still functioning, had all been missing the time spent out there.

As if they had stepped into a fucking time warp, or something else right out of science fiction.

“It’s my night to work, not yours,” Sarah said as she came into his office. “Go home, Jonah.”

“You know, I am your boss,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah. Look, you can go home under your own steam, or I can call Tim and the tow truck.” When he didn’t even frown at that, she lowered her voice and kept it matter-of-fact. “A week in, we aren’t likely to find anything new, and you know it. If nothing else, you need a good night’s sleep so you can come back at it with fresh eyes in the morning.”

“It doesn’t seem right for me to just . . . go home,” he said finally.

“You won’t be any good to anybody if you spend another sleepless night in this office,” she said.

“I slept. Sort of.”

Sarah glanced at the old leather couch across the room from his desk. “That wasn’t sleep, that was time on a medieval torture device. Unless you confessed you’re a heretic, it was useless time.”

Not even that earned a smile from him.

“Jonah. You’ve done every single solitary thing a cop could do on a missing-persons case.”

“I haven’t figured out the weird stuff,” he said. “I’m not even sure keeping quiet about all that is the thing to do.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “Right now, we’ve got two teenagers missing, with clear evidence their intent was to elope. Both sets of parents and the rest of the town can understand that. They can find reasonable explanations in their own minds for the abandoned car, the inactive cell phones, the lack of any trail to follow.”

“But add in the weird stuff . . .”

Sarah nodded. “Add that in, and your slightly uneasy town is going to wobble toward panic. Really fast. And what good’s that going to do anybody?”

“If I could just figure it out—”

“From where I’m standing, I’m not sure anybody could figure it out. But one thing I do know is that you need rest, real, honest-to-God sleep, about twelve hours of it. Because no matter what you believe, nobody expects you to work on this or anything else twenty-four-seven.”

“I think Monica Church does,” he said seriously.

“Jonah. Go home. You stopped making sense a couple of hours ago.”

He thought she was probably right. And he was too tired and discouraged to keep arguing with her. He did need to sleep. He needed a decent shower rather than the make-do shave and wash in the little bathroom off his office—though Sarah had been kind enough not to actually say that he looked like hell. He also needed to eat something that hadn’t come out of a vending machine or a take-out box.

The Diner was still open even this late on a Saturday night, though nearly deserted, and Clyde was more than willing to get started on a burger and fries for Jonah. Then he came out to the front counter, reached underneath, and produced a bottle of Scotch and a small glass.

Mildly, Jonah said, “You don’t have a liquor license, Clyde.”

“I’m not charging you for this, Jonah. Drink it. Then eat and go home. Get some sleep. I’ve seen men in coffins look better than you.”

“Nice.”

“Truth.” Clyde returned to the kitchen. He didn’t have Waylon or Johnny playing tonight, so the Diner was quiet. There was a couple over in a corner booth finishing their own late supper and talking in low voices, and an expressionless teenage boy sitting at the far end of the counter with an open laptop before him.

Since Jonah had personally spoken at least briefly with every teenager in town, he recognized this one. Alec Lowry. Not a bad kid, but a not-so-good home life, and Jonah wasn’t surprised to see him here because Clyde was generous with his Wi-Fi and liked to provide a safe place where kids could spend a few hours if needed.

Alec needed more than most, if Jonah was any judge. The favorite sport of his parents seemed to be arguing. Loudly. So he wasn’t likely to find any quiet time at home. And there were certainly worse things he could be doing late on a Saturday night when he wasn’t eager to go listen to or ignore the latest fight.

He probably wouldn’t be missed there, sad to say.

Jonah brooded about that as he sipped his Scotch. It burned all the way down to his empty stomach, but he thought it probably would help him sleep once he ate.

He thought about two sets of parents who had, in their individual ways, been going crazy for a week now, and compared them to Alec Lowry’s parents, who should never have had kids because they were too damned self-involved. If their son grew up to be a good man, as he showed every sign of doing, it would be because he’d virtually raised himself, not because they had.

“Here.” Clyde slid a plate across the counter to probably his last customer of the day. “Eat.” He raised his voice. “Alec, you want to earn a few bucks?”

The teenager looked up from his laptop, thin face finally wearing an expression as he smiled faintly. “Dishes?”

“There’s a sink full,” Clyde said. “Or you can stick around for sweeping and mopping. I could use the help.”

Jonah dug into his burger and fries as the Diner owner went over to talk more to Alec, perfectly aware that Clyde was one of several adults in the town who looked out for the kids who got either bad parenting or no parenting at all.

A safe place to spend an evening, a good hot meal, and a little cash in their pockets from odd jobs could make all the difference in the world, as did a little time and attention from a good adult role model.

There were advantages to small-town life.

Usually.

—

IT WASN’T THE crack of dawn on Sunday morning when the phone rang, but Jonah was still conscious of a tickle of déjà vu as he fought his way out of the tangled covers to answer. And a cold, hard pit of something he didn’t want to acknowledge settled in the base of his belly.

“Yeah?”

Without prevaricating, Sarah said, “Looks like another one, Jonah.”

“Shit. More kids?”

“No. It’s the judge. He didn’t show up for his usual Sunday breakfast at Clyde’s, and we all know he’s a creature of habit. Clyde called me early, as soon as he started to feel uneasy. I went out and checked the judge’s fishing spot.” She paused, audibly drew a breath, and finished, “Everything looked absolutely normal and undisturbed. His chair, his tackle box, a string with half a dozen fish he’d caught just at the water’s edge. His fishing rod leaning up against the chair with what looked like fresh bait on the hook.”

“But no judge.”

“No. It’s a grassy path most of the way down from the road to the water, you know that, and we haven’t had any rain since that gully washer the day the kids disappeared. No sign of footprints, his or anybody else’s, except for one clear print just where he put the string with his catch in the water.”

“String tied to the stake?”

“Yeah. As always. Nobody ever bothers that, not even the kids. Nobody else was out there, or had been, far as I could tell. Haven’t seen another soul since I got back here. I took a chance and made the hike back to the judge’s place, and everything looked normal. Key was in the normal place, so I went inside and took a quick look. Normal. Absolutely normal.”