She studied his face, looking for the hidden demand she had learned to expect from men who did favors. Dinner. Gratitude. Access. A gentler version of ownership.
He stood with empty hands and waited.
At last she said, “I don't know what I think of you.”
“You've had a long day.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No. It's permission to leave it undecided.”
Sarah went inside before he could see how much that helped.
She tried to sleep at four. She lay on a quilt that smelled of cedar and clean cotton while Toast made a warm dent against her legs. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man from the diner reaching inside his jacket.
At five, she gave up.
Her phone had filled with messages. A coworker asking whether she was all right. Her landlord asking why an officer had been at the building. Jimmy sending a picture of a sandwich with the caption Your employee meal is filing a missing person report.
She called him.
He answered with, “I was funny before I got worried.”
“You're still worried?”
“I'm talented. I do both.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Thank you for calling the police.”
“Thank you for not being dead. Really improved my afternoon.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Jimmy said, “I'm serious. Those guys scared me.”
“Me too.”
“What did they want?”
Sarah looked at the photograph of the letter on her phone.
“I don't know how to tell you.”
“Start anywhere.”
So she did.
She did not tell him the address of the house or the key's place in the evidence inventory. She told him about her father. About her mother saying no on the phone. About the horse.
Jimmy listened without trying to improve the story.
When she finished, he said, “That is a lot for a Thursday.”
She laughed, then cried, then laughed again because crying into a phone while a cat bit the hem of her pants had not been part of any crisis she had imagined.
“Listen,” he said. “The manager says you've got your shifts when you want them. He put it in the group chat. I took a screenshot in case he decides to develop amnesia.”
“You didn't have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
She wiped her face on a sleeve.
“And I have your tips from this morning,” he added. “Hank left forty dollars before all the spy stuff.”
Sarah looked toward the bedroom door.
“Of course he did.”
“Also, his toast was terrible. He was right not to eat it.”
At six, Velez called.
They had identified the SUV from a traffic camera. It was registered to a company that no longer seemed to have a working office. That did not yet put a name to either man's face, but it gave the investigation somewhere to go.
More important, Velez had reached Lena Avery.
Diana sat very still when Sarah put the call on speaker.
“Your cousin remembers the box,” Velez said. “She says her father kept it on a shelf in his workroom. It's been there since before she moved back.”
“Has anybody opened it?” Sarah asked.
“She doesn't think so. There are papers taped to the lid. Her father's writing says it belongs to Michael Mitchell.”
Hank closed his eyes briefly.
“Can she bring it?” Diana asked.
“I've arranged for an officer to meet her. I don't want her transporting it alone until we understand the connection.”
“When can we see it?” Sarah asked.
“Tomorrow, if everything goes as expected.”
Tomorrow.
The word sounded almost luxurious.
Velez continued, “Sarah, I need to clarify something. Was there any recent contact from Owen directed specifically to you? A message, a call, something mailed to your apartment?”
“No.”
“Anything you might have dismissed as spam?”
Sarah thought about the usual stream of overdue warranty notices and wrong numbers.
“Nothing I remember.”
“If you find anything, let me know. And please don't post about the letter or the box.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“I know. I'm asking everyone.”
After the call, Diana stood and went to the kitchen.
Sarah followed her.
Her mother was gripping the counter.
“Why didn't you go see Owen when the letter came?” Sarah asked.
Diana looked at the dark window above the sink.
“I wanted to. Then I thought about you coming home late, about your apartment, about somebody noticing.”
“So you called Ruth.”
“Yes. On Saturday. Hank came on Sunday.”
“You've had almost a week to tell me.”
“I know.”