She disappeared. Ten years ago.

Kylah touches his arm. Oh, my G.o.d. What happened?

Struggling for emotional detachment, he briefly describes it in a couple of concise sentences that sound almost like a lead paragraph from one of the many decade-old newspaper articles.

Kylah shakes her head, trying to digest it. Do you think somebody kidnapped her and killed her?

He winces.

Im sorry, she says immediately. I know how painful that had to be for you.

He nods.

Kylah falls silent. He can see the wheels turning.

Then she asks tentatively, Ten years agoWasnt your dad married to Maggie?

Maggie, of course, is his current stepmother, who is childless. Kylah hasnt met her, but she knows about herand that his father was married twice before.

Yes, he was married to Maggie then, but Rachel and I were still close.

Sonot to be I mean, what does any of this have to do with your lying to me and sneaking around? And why didnt you tell me about her?

Because Ive tried that. With Lindsey, and with other girlfriends who came before her. In the end, every relationship I have falls apart because of Rachel. In the end, I get accused of being obsessed by another woman And you are,he reminds himself. Just not in the way they might think.

I didnt tell you because I was trying to put it behind me, he tells Kylah. And I really did, for awhile But then, in September, when the anniversary rolled around again, I couldnt help it. It happens every year at this time. Sometimes in between, too. But every September, no matter how I tell myself to stay away, I have to go back up there, to Cedar Crest.

Looking for clues?

He nods.

Yes, hes looking for clues And looking for her.

Thinking maybe Rachel will decide her birthday is a good time for her to come back to life, so to speak.

Do you think she might still be alive? Kylah asks, as if shes read his mind. Maybe she just took off and didnt want to be found.

I dont know. Maybe.

But, then again, she had to know what it would do to everyone she left behind. Why would anyone do something like that to their family and friends?

Why, indeed.

I have no idea, Isaac tells her.

Lying again.

But this is it.

This is as far as hes willing to go.

The rest of it is his alone. His, and Rachels.

Are you really going to work today? Ashley grumbles from her leg-dangling perch on the counter as Fiona takes one last sip of her still-hot coffee, standing at the kitchen sink. Its a national holiday. No one is working today.

Plenty of people are working today. Doctors, soldiers, firemen Yeah, but theyhave to work. You dont.

Yes, I do. Fiona dumps the remainder of her coffee down the drain and rinses the sink. I have to support us.

Ashley says nothing.

Fiona turns away, knowing she wouldnthave to work this Monday holiday if she hadnt shirked both Sat.u.r.day and Sunday.

Now shes fallen hopelessly behind, and it means spending all day today at the office, playing catch-up.

Which, Ashleys disappointment aside, is fine with her, really. Shes used to it, and, anyway, its not as though theres something better to do. James is back in Boston. She was hoping hed call her last night, but he never did.

Shes been trying to convince herself that hes just busy. That he isnt avoiding her now that they spent the night together.

But something tells her she may have gone too far and scared him off: the ultimate cliche.

The doorbell rings; thats the sitter.

Fiona was lucky to find one on short notice. At twelve, Andrea Carson is young to stay with Ashley for such a long day, but her older sister had plans. Anyway, its not as though Fiona is leaving her with an infant.

Make sure you eat some breakfast, Ash, Fiona says, picking up her satchel and quickly opening the top to make sure she has the files she needs.

Can me and Andrea make pancakes?

No.

Why not?

Fiona bristles at her tone. Cut it out, Ash, you know I dont like whining. And stop kicking your heels against the cupboards, youll nick them.

With bare feet?

Stop.

Ashley stops. Why cant we make pancakes?

Still whiny, but Choose your battles,Fiona reminds herself, as she so often did during the divorce.

For one thing, because Andrea is just a kid and I dont want you two cooking when Im not home. Its dangerous.

If shes just a kid, why is she babysitting me?

Ignoring that comment, Fiona continues, For another thing, because pancakes arent good for you. Theyre too sweet, and youve already had a cavity. Have cereal.

Im sick of cereal. I want pancakes.

Fiona looks up sharply from the file folder in her hand. It isnt like her daughter to make waves like this.

Whats wrong with you today, Ashley?

Nothing. Ashley idly toys with the handle of a knife sticking out from the Henckels set in the butcher block holder.

Careful, Ashley, those knives are sharp.And expensive, Fiona wants to add, watching her daughter run a fingernail along the handle and hoping it doesnt leave a scratch mark.

Im not touching the blade. Just the handle.

Leave it alone.

Ashley lifts her hand from the knife and scowls.

The doorbell rings again.

Fiona shrugs; she gives Ashley a kiss on the cheek and a quick squeeze. Tonight when I get home, well get pizza and watch a movie. Okay?

What time will that be?

I dont know around seven?

With you, Mom, that means nine. And its a school night. You wont let me stay up that late.

Tonight, I will. She pauses in the kitchen doorway. Hows that?

Good, I guess, Ashley says, and at least shes smiling when she looks up.

Fiona slings her bag over her shoulder and strides away to open the door.

Andrea Carson is one of those girls who will probably never take advantage of her potentialphysical or otherwise. Shes about fifteen pounds overweight, with acne and stringy hair. All of which can be remedied. In fact, every time Fiona sees her, she thinks,If she were my daughter But she isnt.

And Fionas got enough on her plate without offering a makeover to the neighborhood ugly duckling.

Hi, Mrs. Hagan.

Fionas skin crawls at the name, but she doesnt bother to correct the girl. Shes told her, how many times now, that she prefers to be calledMs. Fitzgerald, but it never sinks in.

How are you today, Andrea? She aims her key remote toward the BMW and hears it beep as she unlocks the doors.

Im good.

So Ill be at the office, call me if you needwhat is that? she breaks off to ask, seeing that Andrea is holding out a package toward her.

I dont know. It was propped against your door. Its for you, see?

I see, Fiona murmurs, staring at the block letters that read FIONA.

Quincy Hiles has never liked New York City.

Maybe thats because its unfamiliar turf; he doesnt know his way around the vast network of streets, bridges, and tunnels.

Or maybe its simply because this is the home of his hometown baseball teams archrivals.

Yeah, thats it. And maybe its lame, but he cant help it. As a fan, he takes the sport almost as seriously as he did when he was playing it.

Routed off the New England Thruway by an accident, Quincy is riddled by unpleasant memories as he drives past Yankee Stadium with Connelly in the pa.s.sengers seat.

He finds himself telling Mike about the time, back when he was first married, that he and Bev spent a long weekend in New York and went to a ball game at Yankee Stadium.

Quincy wore a Red Sox capand came out feeling lucky to be alive. The Yankees werent even playing the Sox that day; they were hosting the Blue Jays. But that didnt matter. Mercilessly heckling fans welcomed the telltale redB on Quincys blue cap about as warmly as Well, as warmly as Fenway Park would have welcomed an intertwined whiteNY on a navy one.

Of course Quincy kept that cap on his head, no matter how much his wife begged him to take it off so they could enjoy the game in peace.

No wonder she dumped you. Mike shakes his head. Youre a stubborn s...o...b.., you know that?

Yeah, I know that. Comes in handy on the job.

But not in a marriage.

Now that hes on the verge of putting his career behind him, too, he wonders if hes ready to maybe start dating again. Its been years since his first feeble attempts after the divorce. He quickly concluded there was no room in his life for both women and work, so he chose work.

Maybe in retirement, though, h.e.l.l go back to women.

By the time theyve reached midtown Manhattan, ninety traffic-snarled minutes later, his IBS is acting up. Not just because hes in Yankee territory, or thinking about dating again, but because of overall job stress.

And hes yawning so much hed kill for a cup of coffee, but of course its taboo.

He hasnt slept much the last few nights. Insomnia sets in whenever hes embroiled in a case like this.

Once, when Quincys daughter Sondra was about ten, the two of them spent a rainy beach-vacation day working on a puzzle they found in their rented condo. No matter how hard they tried, they couldnt put it together. Finally, they realized that an entire cl.u.s.ter of key pieces was missingand that someone had dumped stray pieces from a similar puzzle into the box.

Quincy cant help but feel that this case is like that. He was in the process of solving one puzzle when pieces of another started popping up.

In terms of the original questions surrounding Matilda Harringtons death, they still havent been able to corroborate Ray Wilmingtons story about her secret romance.

And Wilmington still isnt talking. It doesnt help that his mother keeps going on and on about the shame hes brought to her, and that he lost his job in the wake of all this. For him, that was apparently the final straw. Its as if some switch in his brain has cut off any willingness to communicate on any level. Of course, the detectives have him under constant surveillance, and they keep bringing him in for questioning, but no one is making any headway with Wilmingtons monosyllabic answers.

Quincys gut tells him that that whole angle is a dead end, though. Why would Wilmingtonor some secret boyfriend, married or dirt poor or notleave a sc.r.a.p of sorority sweater at the crime scene?

He probably wouldnt.

That piece of evidence was left to taunt the police, to send some kind of messagea message that seems to be somehow tied to Matildas sorority-girl past.

Yes, Quincy is stumped, despite having spent yesterday with Deb at the Zeta Delta Kappa house learning as much as they could about Matilda Harringtons college years, and Rachel Lorents disappearance. The housemother was as helpful as she could be, but she doesnt have any answers.

She did provide the names of several of Matilda Harringtons close friends from her sorority days: Brynn Saddler, Fiona Fitzgerald, and Ca.s.sandra Ashford.