I asked, Why are you stealing?

What?

You heard me.

Fuck you.

The petty cash, Susanne's watch that went She found that watch.

So I hear. You don't want to deny the petty cash, too?

That caught him off guard. Does my dad know you're talking to me?

Should we go get him? Then I can ask you, with him present, whether you broke into my house.

Why the fuck would I do that?

I don't know. You tell me.

I don't know where this is coming from, but you're totally nuts.

What are you doing on the computer all the time?

He grinned. She's telling you all this shit, isn't she?

She? I said.

She's not my mother, okay? Just because she's my dad's girlfriend doesn't give her the right to spy on me, and then go blabbing to you about what she's found out.

Evan, can I tell you something? Right now, I'm cutting you a whole lot of slack, because the other day, I heard you refer to my ex-wife as a bitch, and right now, all I really want to do is rip your head off. But I've decided to be nice, because all that matters to me is finding Sydney. And there's something about you, I don't know what it is, but it's like a bad smell, and I can't help but think that whatever's happened to Syd may have something to do with you.

He shook his head and tried to laugh it off. You're a piece of work.

He hit the switch on the vacuum and turned away from me. I was about to grab him by the shoulder when I heard someone shout, Tim!

I turned. Bob Janigan was standing in the open garage doorway. He shouted my name a second time.

I strode over to him, said, You need to find out what's up with your boy, and walked back to my car.

BACK ON THE ROAD, MY CELL RANG.

What happened? Susanne asked.

Our my house was broken into while I was in Seattle. The place was trashed, searched from top to bottom. Some cash got stolen. Maybe some other stuff, too. I don't know. And when the police looked around, they found what I'm guessing was cocaine.

What?

I think Evan knows more than he's saying.

Susanne said, Bob says if you ever go near Evan again he'll kill you.

It's my other line, Suze. I have to go.

IT WAS A CRIMINAL LAWYER NAMED EDWIN CHATSWORTH. He was part of the firm I used whenever I needed legal matters dealt with. Like a failed business, but also property matters, title transfers, that kind of thing. Once, a dissatisfied customer had threatened to sue me personally, as opposed to the dealership that employed me, over a used car that turned out to be a genuine lemon.

I'd put in a call to the firm between leaving home and going to see Evan. They said it sounded like a job for Edwin, and promised he would get back to me.

I spelled it out for him the best I could.

Just guessing, he said, but I'd be very surprised if they go ahead with any charges over the coke, assuming it is coke and not a Baggie full of baking soda.

Because?

Like you said. You invited the cops into your home. The place had been broken into. People other than you had an opportunity to put the drugs in your bed. A judge would toss it out before they'd finished their opening arguments.

You sure?

No. But that's what my gut tells me. And this Detective Jennings, don't talk to her anymore.

But she's also looking for my daughter. I can't not talk to her about that.

Chatsworth mulled that one over. Don't trust her. She starts veering the conversation to what was in the house, you say nothing without me being there. There's no way they can prove those drugs were yours.

They weren't. They're not my drugs.

Hey, did I ask you that?

THE BAG I'D PACKED FOR THE TRIP TO SEATTLE was back in my car. I'd walked into the house with it but, after discovering the state my place was in, never unpacked. And now that Kip Jennings wasn't going to let me sleep in my own house that night, I'd hung on to the bag.

I went into the mall and had a slice of pepperoni pizza in the food court. I watched all the young people walking by. Tried to catch the faces of all the teenage girls.

You never stopped looking.

Then I got back in the car and drove over to the Just Inn Time. Carter and Owen, the two men who'd been on the front desk the night I'd come in trying to find Syd, were on once again.

I walked up to the counter and said, I'd like a room.

Chapter SIXTEEN.

AND THAT'S JUST WHAT IT WAS.

A room. A generic, nondescript, plain room. A patternless blue spread covered the double bed in the center. Dull white shades covered the lamps flanking the bed. The bedroom walls were beige, much like the bathroom and the towels and the halls and everything else in this budget-minded hotel.

But that said, it was also clean and well kept. The bathroom came equipped with soap and shampoo and a hair dryer. The closet had one of those mini-safes you can program with a four-digit code, suitable for holding a passport, a video camera, and a few thousand in unmarked bills.

The hotel hadn't yet moved to fancy flat-screen, wall-mounted TVs. And while the bulky set sitting atop the dresser seemed to be from a couple of decades ago, you could still order up movies including ones with titles like She'll Be Cummin' Round the Mountain When She Cums if you were so inclined.

I flipped through the channels, left Dr. Phil on in the background to exploit some miserable family stupid enough to air their dirty laundry for the entertainment pleasure of millions, and looked out the second-floor window. I don't know what I was expecting, exactly. Maybe I thought staring at the Howard Johnson restaurant and hotel off in the distance, the cars and trucks whizzing past on I-95, would somehow provide a clue as to where Syd had gone after I'd dropped her off out front of the Just Inn Time.

It didn't.

Watching those hundreds of cars and trucks and SUVs racing by, I couldn't help thinking that if you were in one of those vehicles, in a few short hours you could be anywhere in New England. Boston or Providence, up to Maine. Maybe Vermont or New Hampshire. You could head west and north, be up in Albany in under three hours. Or closer to home, but harder to find, in Manhattan.

And that would just be the same day you got in one of those cars. By now, weeks later, a person could be almost anywhere.

If that person was alive.

I'd been trying very hard, since the moment she'd gone missing, not to let my mind go there. As long as there was no definitive evidence that harm had come to her, I had to believe she was fine. Lost at least to Susanne and me but okay.

The image of that blood on Syd's Civic, though, was a hard thing to get out of my head.

And there was an audio loop running through my head. It had been playing for weeks, always below the surface, like a hum, like background noise.

The loop was made up of questions that I kept asking over and over again.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

What happened?

Why did you run?

What scared you?

Why won't you get in touch?

Did you leave because I asked about the sunglasses, and then something happened that kept you from coming back?

Why can't you just let me know you're okay?

So around nine o'clock, a time of day when, as I've gotten older, I'm often ready to nod off, I wasn't the slightest bit tired.

I went through the motions anyway. I unzipped the bag I'd taken to Seattle, and there was Milt the stuffed moose looking up at me.

Oh shit, I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed. I took him out and set him on one of the pillows.

I took my cell phone from my jacket and set it by the bed. I brushed my teeth, stripped down to my boxers, threw back the covers, and got into the bed. I channel-surfed for another ten minutes, then hit the light.

Stared at the ceiling for half an hour or so.

Light from Route 1 passing cars and trucks, the neon glow of the commercial strip was flooding into the room. I thought maybe pulling together the drapes more tightly would block out the light and help me get to sleep.

I got out of the bed, padded across the industrial carpet, and grabbed one of the drapery wands. But before giving them a pull, I gazed out over this part of Milford. Traffic was thinning, except on the interstate, where it always seemed to be busy. Cars always appeared to be moving so slowly when viewed from some height.

The view of the nearby businesses from up here was actually pretty good. I could see many of the places I'd visited in the last few weeks. The Howard Johnson's to the right, the other, small operations to the left.

I could clearly see the blood-red neon letters of XXX Delights, and half a dozen cars parked out front. I watched men, always alone, go into the store empty-handed, emerge a few minutes later with their evening's entertainment packaged in plain brown paper.

A man coming around the corner of the building, where the flower shop was, caught my eye.

He walked across the lot, pointed a remote, and then the red lights of a van pulsed once. He opened the driver's door and got in. I wasn't certain, but it looked like the Toyota van belonging to Shaw Flowers.

Seemed kind of late for a delivery. Maybe Ian had use of the van any time he wanted. Maybe he had a hot date.

The van backed out of its spot, then nosed up to the edge of Route 1, waiting for a break in traffic.

The knock at the door nearly made me jump.

I turned away from the window, walked across the darkened room, and squinted through the peephole. Veronica Harp, the day manager.

Hey! I shouted through the closed door. Give me a sec!

I flicked one bedside table lamp, found the pants I'd draped over a chair, pulled them on hurriedly, threw on my shirt, and was still buttoning it when I opened the door.

How are you? I said.

She had traded in her corporate uniform for something more casual. Crisp, tailored jeans, heels, and a royal blue blouse. With her black hair and soulful eyes, you didn't look at her and immediately think grandmother.

Oh no, she said, looking at my bare feet and the buttons I had left to do up. I caught you at a bad time.

No, I said, it's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway.

I just popped in and Carter told me you were actually staying in the hotel, she said. I was so surprised.

I needed a room, I said.

Did something happen to your house? A fire?

Something like that, I said. I'm hoping I'll be able to go back tomorrow. Get the place cleaned up.

That's a terrible shame, Veronica said, still framed in the doorway.

It seemed rude to make her stand there, so I opened the door wider for her to come inside. She took half a dozen steps in, and I let the door close behind her on its own. She glanced over at the unmade bed.

Well, I'm delighted you chose this hotel. There are certainly nicer ones around, she conceded.

I guess, these days, I know this one best, I said, and offered her a wry smile.

I suppose you do, she said, and smiled back.

I sidestepped back toward the window, took a quick look outside. It was more difficult to see, what with the room lights reflecting in the glass.