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“You’ve got outliers,” Dad said, pointing to a tack stuck in Austin, Texas. But the rest of the towns were no more than a couple hundred miles away from a central point.

I picked up a pen and started to draw lines inward, connecting the most common points. When I was finished, I stepped back. My lines looked like spokes on a wheel.

Or a bullseye.

“I’ll be damned,” Dad said. He walked up to the map and jabbed his finger into the center.

“Except the Texas outlier,” I said, “you’ve got a ring one hundred miles out. Then a middle ring, two hundred miles out. Then three hundred miles.”

The chronology was also telling. They were sent in a pattern. First, those from the inner ring of towns, then the middle ring, then the outer ring farthest away. Then the cycle started again. On every other Tuesday, the letters went out as the sender traveled in a circle, hitting each town one after the other, then going back to the beginning.

Dad pulled his finger away. He stood beside me.

The center of the bullseye was where we stood. The target could have been Helene.

“Helene,” I said, incredulous. “If those letters were written by the same person, Helene could have been their home base. The call was coming from inside the house!”

Dad looked confused by the reference.

It was a theory, not solid proof, but the visual was striking. It couldn’t be random. Not with the way the cycle of dates lined up compared to the geography. I was both fascinated and horrified at the same time.

“Come on, Dad. It’s getting late. We have a lot to process.”

I gathered my things and we walked the two blocks back to the pier. The sun was starting to set. Kobe had already left for the day.

Dad and I started working on the ropes. He climbed inside the boat, taking the passenger seat. I knew how hard that was for him too, but he was honoring his promise to me.

“Mercy,” he said with alarm as I worked on the last rope. “Are you bleeding?”

“What?”

I looked down. Sure enough, something red and sticky stained the front of my white jeans. I’d been leaning up against the boat. With the way the light hit, I hadn’t noticed anything at first. But as I backed away from the hull, I saw it.

They’d used red spray paint. The letters covered one whole side of the boat.

“What is it?” Dad asked.

I shook my head to clear it. But there was no mistaking what I read.

ATRŌ TE BENEDICTO

OPUS NŌN PERFECTUM

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

“And you saw nothing, you’re sure, son?”

Kobe looked terrified. Certainly, Sheriff Henderson could be an imposing presence. But he was also close friends with the harbormaster, Kobe’s boss. That one of the boats in his care was vandalized could cause major repercussions. At the same time, it wasn’t the poor kid’s fault.

“No, sir,” he said. “We had three charters come in one after the other. I was on the north pier for over an hour. I just don’t see how someone else walking by didn’t notice someone spraying Mr. Gale’s boat.”

“It’s what I can’t figure either,” Mac admitted. “Everyone in town knows about that boat.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gale. Please let me help you clean it up.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, kiddo,” Dad said. He was angry, but not at Kobe. “It’ll give me something to do with myself this week.”