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“Of course,” I said, putting my hand over his.

“I don’t want to add more to your plate. The gala isn’t for a few weeks yet. I just need some input, and Eli’s opinions are always out of the box.”

Eli Shepherd was Lock’s best friend. They’d known each other since college. A few years ago, Lock put Eli on salary and appointed him to a seat on the foundation’s board and fundraiser planning committee. Though he wouldn’t openly admit it, Lock had done that out of a sense of obligation and charity. Eli previously ran his own software company and had gotten into some financial difficulty. It was supposed to be a secret.

“I’m here for whatever you need,” I said.

Lock beamed. “Good. Will you come in with me tomorrow? Eli and I are supposed to meet with the caterer and finalize the menu for the gala. I value your input more than his. Just don’t tell him that.”

I went quiet. Eli had a bravado that turned most people off, including me in the beginning. But he loved Lock too, so I looked past it. Over time, I could start to see some of the things that endeared him to Lock. He was loyal. Since he’d joined the foundation full-time, he’d taken a lot of the heat away from Lock when other members of the board questioned Lock’s decisions. He and Lock might argue in private, but to the rest of the world, Eli was his ride or die. His wife Piper, on the other hand, seemed to openly resent me. I never quite knew why. Perhaps she was just used to being the “girl” in their group of three. Or perhaps she resented having to rely on Lock’s goodwill for keeping her husband employed.

“Are you okay with that?” he said. “I wouldn’t ask. But I trust your judgment and your taste. I just want everything to be perfect this year.”

“How does Eli feel about that? You don’t think it’ll make him feel like a third wheel? He’s employed by the foundation. I’m not.”

Lock frowned. “Eli can handle it. He knows you’re amazing. We’re meeting in my office tomorrow. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

He leaned over and kissed me, then folded his paper again and started to rise. “Gotta go,” he said.

“It’s Saturday!”

“Just for a little while. I’ll be back before lunch. Just have a few loose ends I left at the office.”

Before I could press him further, Lock grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door and walked out.

I sank back down into my chair. I’d hoped to have Lock to myself this weekend. Plus, the truth was I was the one who sometimes felt like a third wheel around Eli and Lock. He shared a familiarity with Lock, having known him all of his adult life. His wife Piper never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was an outsider.

Before I had a chance to ruminate any further, my cell phone rang. I had it on the charger near the coffee maker. One of Lock’s rules. We never kept our cell phones next to the bed.

I went to it, reading Roy Dennison’s caller ID. “Hello?”

“Mina,” he said. “Didn’t want to bother you at home. But can you clear your schedule and meet with me Monday morning?”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” he said. “But I got a hold of Corrine Egan’s old police report. I’m reading through it now. Is Lock there with you?”

A strange question to ask.

“What? No, why?”

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting you. Can you meet me first thing Monday?”

“Yes. My pre-trial got pushed to Tuesday afternoon.”

“Good,” he said. “Amy Pasko, the sister of the first missing woman. She’s agreed to come in and talk to us. Remember, she’s the only one who may have gotten a good look at our potential suspect.”

The composite sketch floated before me in my mind. Handsome. Dark, thick, wavy hair. Strong jaw. That shadow of a cleft in his chin. “Yes,” I heard myself say.

“Corrine’s statement is a lot more detailed than what she told us the other day. Which I suppose stands to reason since she gave it when events were fresher in her mind. There are some things in it I think you’ll want to see.”

FIVE

CORRINE

A split second later, and I would have caught it before it hit the ground. Before glass shattered all over the kitchen floor. Before my legs, the counter, and the oven door became covered with thick, red, sticky liquid.

I grabbed a towel off the hook beside me and started wiping up what I could of the ketchup. I’d need a mop to get under the stove. I started around the corner, pushing through the stainless-steel double doors to the dining room.