It was my turn to chuckle. “Right.”

“Anyway, I just thought it was odd,” Mike said. “And I wanted you to know.”

Most of the Coronado PD had distanced themselves from me the moment Bazer had hinted to the media that I might have something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance. Mike never wavered. I was sure Bazer hated him for that but there was no way he could remove him from his job. He was too good and had been around too long. He probably just ignored him.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“If I see anything else, I’ll let you know,” Mike said. “And I’ll get on the names in Florida today.”

I thanked him again and we hung up.

The snow blanketed the windshield and I hit the wipers to clear it. I turned down the heat, the air in the car heavy and warm.

I appreciated Mike’s call but I didn’t think there was as much to it as he did. Bazer was a control freak and the fact that I’d returned to Coronado probably rattled his cage more than he liked. Pretty sure he wasn’t happy that I’d even set foot on the island. To me, it just felt like he was checking to make sure I was gone, so he could relax and not worry about me stirring up things he didn’t want to remember. He was glad to be rid of me.

And I was glad to be rid of him.

SIXTEEN

It was too late in the day to do anything with the school. I wouldn’t be able to find anyone in the office or at a district office. I tried not to feel frustrated. Just because finding Elizabeth was my singular focus didn’t mean it was anyone else’s. There was no sense of urgency on anyone’s part but mine. There were other things going on, other things that took precedence.

So I had to wait.

I drove back to the apartment complex and got out of my car just as Isabel was pulling up. I walked toward her car and she glanced at me, still irritated.

“I need something to do,” I said.

“What?” she said. “You need to be entertained?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve done all I can do today on Elizabeth. I’m yours now.”

She stopped and brushed the snow from her face. “You have anything warmer to wear?”

“This is all I brought.”

She shook her head. “Follow me.”

I did and we went into the rental office. We walked passed the desk and down a back hall. She pulled out a set of keys and led me to a door at the end of the hall. She opened it.

“This is another apartment?” I asked, stepping in behind her.

“No,” she said. “It’s my apartment. Thirty-two steps from the front desk.”

I nodded and she disappeared down another hall. Her apartment was neat, well-kept. A small blue sofa and a rectangular coffee table occupied the living room. A small piano sat against one wall, a TV on top of a bookshelf on the other. A few Impressionist prints hung on the walls, their frames slightly askew. A small kitchen was tucked around the corner, a pine table set with lace placemats. The faint smell of lavender hung in the air.

She came back holding a heavier jacket and gloves. “Try these.”

I took off my coat and put on hers. It was a little big, but provided significantly more warmth. She handed me the gloves and I pulled them on.

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” she said. “I’ve got hand warmers, too, but I’ll wait to give you those later. You need a hat, too.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Spoken by someone who’s never been out late at night in a Minnesota winter,” she said, going over to a closet. She opened the door, rummaged for a moment, then tossed a red knit hat at me. “Wear it. You can thank me later.”

I pulled it on. She looked at me for a moment, then came over to me. She reached up and pulled it down a little lower.

“It’s your ears we’re looking to protect here,” she said. She stepped back. “That’ll work.”

“Are we going skiing or something?”

She snorted. “Hardly. We gotta go hand out blankets. And food. And clothes.”

“To who?”

She waved me back out the door. She closed it behind us and locked it. She turned back to me.

“To whoever we find,” she said.

SEVENTEEN

Our first stop was a storage shed about a mile from the complex.

“I keep everything I get in here,” Isabel said. “I tried to keep it at home, but it kept growing, so I had to find another spot.”

The snow was falling faster now as the sun began to dip. The air felt different. Crisper. Cleaner. Colder. It stung my eyes, burned my nostrils.

“Does it ever stop snowing here?” I asked.

She smiled. “Yes. In May.”

She rolled up the metal door on the shed and we stepped inside. It was a heated unit and the warmth escaped in a rush of steam, wrapping around me.

It was three-quarters full. Blankets of all colors and materials were stacked eye-high along one wall. Several rolling racks housed jackets and long sleeve shirts. There were maybe two dozen boxes of gloves, scarves and hats. Cases of bottled water took up another wall, along with crates full of snacks: bags of chips, cookies and granola bars, fruit snacks and packages of nuts.

“It’s all donated,” she said. “I beg and sometimes people give.”

“Wow,” I said. “You must be good at begging.”

“I’ve gotten better at it,” she said. “More persuasive. I’ve graduated from asking people I know to local businesses and grocery stores. People are generous. You just have to ask.”

“So what do we take?”

“A little of everything,” she said. “You get the water and food. I’ll grab the clothes.”

Twenty minutes later, the back of her SUV was full and the storage shed was half-empty. We got back in the car and we were on the slick, slow-moving highway before either of us spoke again.

“So,” I said. “Tell me about Marc.”

“I told you about him before,” she said glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Here’s a tip. If you actually want help, you’ll need to share details.”

She hit her blinker and slowly changed lanes. “I know that.”

“Then why all of the secrecy?”

“Because I need to know that I can trust you.”

“So, what? You give me a place to live so you can keep an eye on me?”  I shook my head. “This is why people don’t get found.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stared out my window at the long rows of cars crawling with us in the snow. “It means that people don’t understand what urgency really means. Because it means taking risks and sometimes failing. It means trusting people you just met, even if they end up being wrong. Because there is no other way.” I shook my head. “The longer the wait, the less chance you have of finding someone. And I’m talking minutes, alright? The more minutes you wait, the more your odds decrease.”

She stiffened in the driver’s seat.

“I get that people don’t always like me,” I continued. “Because I come off as uptight and don’t wanna make small talk. Well, guess what? You know how Rodney said he’d heard of me, that I’d had success at finding people?” I looked at her. “It’s because I’m uptight and don’t wanna make small talk. Because there is a giant ticking clock over every missing person’s head and the longer it ticks, the longer they’re away from their families and friends. And eventually the clock stops ticking.”

She switched lanes again, moving around an ancient pick-up truck that was having trouble finding traction. Headlights were coming on all around us as the winter sky moved to black.

“I wish I hadn’t stuck that cigarette in Jacob Detwiler’s face yesterday,” I said. “Didn’t make me feel very good. But I needed him to talk and I don’t waste time when it comes to my daughter. Because I don’t even know if her clock is still ticking.”

We came to a halt in the traffic and the brakes on the SUV squeaked.

“I haven’t done anything to help Marc, have I?” she finally said.

“No.”

She leaned her elbow on her door, set her head in her hand. “You already told me I should’ve gone to his home. And broke my promise to him.”