“Doing Teshuva,” she said with a sigh.

“You didn’t pick that up from dropping by your neighbors for the occasional wake.”

“No. When I was in college, I had a few years of soul searching,” she admitted. “You know, why are we here? I looked into a lot of religions. I really liked my neighbors. They were a happy family. I thought maybe it was their faith. So I went to Temple near campus for a long time. I was curious. Kind of like Joel.”

Kane held up the textbook. “He did have a girlfriend. I found a note, with hearts, x’s and o’s. ‘Meet me by the library.’ Signed, M.”

She picked up one of the pillows on Joel’s bed. “Pink smudge. Lipstick.” She sniffed it and her mind flashed back to David’s words. I thought I’d dreamed you, then I smelled you. On my pillow. Her heart fluttered. “Perfume. Faint, but there.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time boys and girls sneaked behind their parents’ backs.”

“I’ll give Micki a call, get a crew out here.”

“It’s late,” Kane said, “and I’m beat. It’s been a long day. Once CSU gets here, let’s go home, recharge, and come back at this in the morning.”

She thought of David, waiting for her at the cabin. Wondered again at what he might have done, then thought about all he’d done since and wondered what the past mattered. He’d proven the kind of man he was, time and again. He was waiting for her and he’d promised answers. She’d been waiting for two and a half years. “All right.”

Tuesday, September 21, 8:55 p.m.

“It’s about closing time, sir,” he said to Dorian Blunt, who sat alone at a table, his eyes on the door. The wayward accountant had been there for almost an hour, jumping every time the bell on the door jingled.

Poor Dorian was waiting for the man who’d contacted him via e-mail about an accounting position in a new company. There was just enough verifiable detail to make Dorian believe in the job and just enough promised to make him desperate for the position.

Because Dorian needed a new job very badly. Especially now. The job he’d taken after leaving his old firm after embezzling all that money had not been successful, and the Blunt household’s finances were suffering. So much that Dorian might start dipping into his ill-gotten gains any day now.

Which wouldn’t do at all. Because I took every cent.

Of course there was no job. There is just me, playing with Dorian a little. Not wanting to harm Mrs. Blunt or their child, he’d needed a way to lure Dorian out of his house, and promising a job interview was better than most. Having him wait for an hour, watching the door?

Now, that was a strategy he’d learned from a real master. Honed right here in his shop. The serial killer unceremoniously dubbed “The Red Dress Killer” by the press had lured his female victims from their homes with the promise of a hot date in a public place. He’d made them wait, demoralizing them, then when they’d given up on Mr. Right, the killer had followed them home and performed his dastardly deeds.

He’d lured his third victim here. Right under my nose and even I didn’t suspect a thing. Not until the police flashed the victim’s picture all over the media. He’d recognized her immediately then. He’d even chatted with her the night she’d disappeared. The police had tracked her here, asking for video of the dining area, but he’d lied, telling them he only had video of the cash register.

For a very brief moment, he’d considered blackmailing Pit-Guy but quickly decided against it. The man had been a serial killer, for God’s sake. There was no way he was getting involved with that. And as for helping the police? He let them figure it out on their own. That’s what they were paid for.

Eventually they had figured it out and Pit-Guy’s full story had been revealed. He’d had more than three dozen bodies stashed in the pit in his basement. So my instincts were right. Don’t mess with a man with three dozen bodies in his basement. The video of Pit-Guy watching his victim, following her out that night, was one of his treasures.

And whenever he needed a lesson in discretion, he watched it. Pit-Guy got cocky, then careless, then caught. Now he was dead. I don’t intend to get careless.

I intend to hang everything on Mary and Albert. Especially Mary. He had a score to settle with her. But for now, he had a score to settle with Mr. Dorian Blunt. Pay me a fraction of what you owe. Foolish. Between Tomlinson and Blunt, he’d have enough visual aids to convince his other clients to pay on time. And if not, he’d kill them, too.

He looked up at the clock. He needed to finish with Dorian so that he could deal with that kid Kenny at the deaf school and find out what he knew that he wasn’t telling the cops. He’d snip those loose ends and then he could get back to business.

“Sir,” he called out. “We’re closed now. You have to leave.”

Dorian stood, his briefcase clutched in his sweaty hand. “Just a few more minutes? This meeting is very important.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m ready to lock up. You may want to wait outside for a few minutes. Just in case.”

Dorian did just that, which he’d known he would. He locked up and went to get his van. Soon, Dorian Blunt would wish he’d just paid his bills on time.

Tuesday, September 21, 9:05 p.m.

David stood on the edge of Glenn’s dock, his face lifted into the cool wind coming off the water. It was after nine and Olivia hadn’t called.

He’d almost given in and called her, but stopped himself. The ball was truly in her court now, he thought. No pun intended. She could be busy. She could be tied up with a suspect and unable to call. Or, she might have simply changed her mind.

He looked down at his fishing rod and tackle box that lay on the dock, unused. He’d brought them out here, intending to try for another walleye, but had ended up standing here, contemplating. Everything.

He thought about what Evie had said about missed opportunities, about Glenn’s paralleling his life to Dana’s. Service, at the exclusion of everything else. Dana’s had been penance for the guilt she felt over her mother’s murder at her stepfather’s hand.

Mine… Megan’s death and the deaths of her entire family. Also at the hand of a stepfather. Funny how he’d never stopped to consider the parallels before. But they’d always been there, plain for anyone to see. If anyone knew the truth.

Which brought him back to Olivia’s big question-who are you? He still wasn’t sure what he’d answer, if she ever got here.

He turned his mind to Lincoln and his phantom helper, who might not even exist.

He hoped Tom was making more progress with the Web site than he had with the phone numbers he’d found on Lincoln’s call log. The only calls that showed up in any of the reverse lookups he’d done were cell phones for Lincoln’s mother and his brother, Truman. The other number Lincoln had called matched nothing. It might be a disposable cell. He’d gone as far as picking up a disposable cell phone of his own on his way up to the cabin, but he’d stopped short of calling the numbers.

If one of them was important, he wouldn’t want to tip them off.

Whoever “they” might be. Because even though he was pretty positive Lincoln had help, David still had to ask why? Why would anyone not crazy want to find me? All I did was catch the damn ball.

A noise caught his ear, faint, but it got louder and his heart began to pound. A car. Either Olivia had just forgotten to call again or someone else had come to search the place. He grabbed his fishing gear and jogged back up to the house, stowing his things on the back porch. He strode through the small living area. He’d set the table again and restored order to Glenn’s desk. The house was ready for Olivia.

But was she ready? Am I?

Hands unsteady, he wrenched open the door, only to find her on his doorstep, her fist poised to knock. Slowly she lowered her fist to her side, her eyes locked to his, and he had to force himself to breathe.