'Yes, h.e.l.lo, who is it?'

'Oh, hi, is this Delia? Delia Fischer?'

The voice was familiar, but she didn't recognize it. 'Yes, that's me.'

'Delia, h.e.l.lo, this is Bobby Larch. You know, up in Ellison Bay? Our daughters went to school together.'

Delia sighed and grew impatient. People were always calling about community activities. School meetings. Fundraisers. Right now, she didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. 'This isn't a very good time, Bobby.'

'I'm sorry to bother you, but this has been weighing on my mind. I'm a parent like you, and I figure I'd like to know if my daughter was doing something like this. It doesn't matter how old they are, they're still our kids, right?'

Delia was distracted, and she had trouble following his words, but then her brain caught up with him. Tresa. Tresa.

'What is it, Bobby? What are you saying?'

'I work up in Northport at the ferry dock. The thing is, right as the five o'clock ferry was getting ready to go, your daughter Tresa came racing up, saying it was an emergency and she had to get on the boat. I suppose if I'd been thinking, I would have said no, but I let her drive on. It may not be anything important, but I also know that Mark Bradley's wife left the island on the previous boat, so the more I thought about it, the more I figured it was something you should know about, what with everything that happened last year and all. I know you'd want her to be safe.'

Delia struggled to find her voice. 'Yes. Yes, I do appreciate the call, Bobby. Thank you.'

She hung up without letting him say anything more. Her chest felt heavy, as if a fist were constricting her lungs. She should have guessed immediately. Tresa had seen Troy's truck. Her daughter must have crept inside and heard what they were discussing, and now she was there, on the island. With Mark Bradley. In the line of fire when Troy made his way to the house. Tresa, Tresa, what were you thinking? Tresa, Tresa, what were you thinking?

Delia pulled at her hair in panic. She beat her forehead with closed fists, trying to decide what to do. She clutched her phone and dialed Tresa again, and then Troy, and both times she got nothing but the infuriating loop of voicemail. She was helpless. Cut off.

Just like Harris, she'd lit a fire, and now it was out of control.

There was only one option. One way to stop this. She had to get help. Delia dialed another number, and this time she felt a huge relief when the sheriff answered immediately.

'Felix? Oh, G.o.d, Felix, it's Delia. Are you back on the island yet?'

'Yes, I just got home. Why?'

'You have to help me. I've made a terrible mistake.'

Chapter Forty-Two.

Most of the back roads on the northern tip of the peninsula dead- ended in the woods or at the lakesh.o.r.e. Cab drove back and forth along narrow trails with names like Europe Bay, Lost Lane, Timberline, Juice Mill, and Wilderness, and he saw the same things: farm buildings, locked gates, boat launches, and hiking trails, all of them deserted. None of it meant anything to him, and all the while, it got darker around him. It was already night inside the trees. The relentless rain poured down over the car.

He parked on the road to the state park and turned off the engine. He knew he was wasting his time here, going around in circles. Running blind.

Cab glanced at his phone and saw that he had a single bar of signal. He didn't know how long it would last. Signal came and went with the wind here. Quickly, before the air currents switched directions, he called home to Florida. It was odd that his brain supplied the word. Home.

'Lala, it's Cab,' he said when she answered.

'Well, well,' she said. 'The tall blond stranger.'

Hearing her voice, he could picture her face. Her dark skin. Her fierce eyes. Ebony hair. The last time they'd talked, he'd been drinking, and this time, she was the one who sounded buzzed, with a mellowness in her voice. It was softly sensual. It reminded him of the one time they'd made love and how oddly vulnerable she'd been in his bed, not wild and uninhibited as he would have expected. He could picture her naked body and remember the tiny flaws - the freckles, the scar on her knee, the barest pooch - that made her not perfect but more beautiful for being that way. They had danced around that night ever since, with Cab doing what he did best. Running blind.

'Where are you?' he asked.

'I'm in your condo,' she told him. 'I hope you don't mind.'

He was surprised but pleased. 'Not at all. I told you to go there.'

'My air conditioner still isn't working. I felt like I was back in Havana. I had to do something.'

'It's fine.'

'I'm drinking your wine.'

'Good.'

'It's really, really good wine.'

'I know.'

'I've had a lot of it.'

'That's why it's there.'

'I suppose you want to talk about the case case,' she said, drawing out the word with a snarl.

He did, but he didn't. He needed her help, and he didn't know how long his cell signal would last before it evaporated into the sky. Even so, he simply liked hearing her voice out here, in the middle of nowhere. 'What else did you want to talk about?' he asked.

'I did something bad,' she said.

'I doubt that.'

'No, no, I did. I went through your nightstand drawer. I told myself I was looking for a rubber band for my hair, but I was just snooping.'

'What did you find?' he asked.

'A picture.'

Cab knew which one. 'OK.'

'She's pretty.'

'Was.'

'Was. Sorry.'

'Her name was Vivian,' he said.

'You want to tell me about her?'

Cab took a long time to reply, and Lala let him off the hook.

'Never mind, you don't owe me your life story. I like the idea that some woman was able to get to you. I sure couldn't.'

'Not true,' he said.

This time Lala was the one who was slow to answer. 'Did she break your heart, Catch-a-Cab?' 'Something like that.'

'And now all of us have to pay, huh?'

'Something like that,' he repeated.

'That's pretty screwed up.'

'Yeah.'

'I'm saying things I shouldn't,' she said. 'I'm sorry. It's the wine. I better shut up.'

'Don't.'

Lala hesitated anyway. 'There's something I never told you.' 'What?'

's.h.i.t, what am I doing?' she murmured.

'Tell me.'

'I don't hook up,' she said.

Cab tensed. 'I don't understand.'

'I don't do it. Some women do. Not me.'

'I'm still not sure-'

'Couldn't you tell?' she interrupted him. 'I've made love to three men in ten years. I was engaged to one. I thought I was in love with another. And then there's you.'

She'd been right. He wasn't ready for this. 'Lala.'

'You don't have to say anything.'

That was a lie. She wanted him to say something. He needed to say something. He kept looking for a door. Looking for a key. That was the irony, because he had a key in his pocket, and he needed a lock to go with it. Say something. Say something. But he didn't, and he waited too long. But he didn't, and he waited too long.

'I'm going to press the reset b.u.t.ton on this conversation,' Lala told him, sounding more sober and sad. 'OK? Reset. Beep. This is Mosqueda. Is that Detective Bolton? What can I do for you, Detective Bolton?'

'Lala,' he repeated lamely.

'A report? You want a report? Because I have information for you.'

Cab sighed and played the game. 'What did you find out?'

'Enough to think that something's not adding up. Enough to think we have a problem.'

'Go on. Tell me.'

'I started thinking about Glory on Friday night,' Lala continued. 'When she ran into our bartender friend, Ronnie Trask. I tried to nail down the exact time it happened. Trask said he took his break before stopping at the hotel restaurant to stock up on wine for the bar. Then he went straight from his near-collision with Glory back to the pool bar. He figures he served a drink within two or three minutes of getting back. I checked the invoices and was able to calculate what I think was his first sale. Based on that, I have a window of about five minutes or so when Glory came running from the event center.'

'Good work, but I'm not sure where you're going with this,' Cab told her.

'Hang on. I called the woman who coordinated the entire dance compet.i.tion and had her check that time against the performance schedules. Here's what I found. Tresa Fischer would have been in the line-up immediately before that time window. Makes sense, huh? Glory would have been in the arena to watch her sister.'

'Sure. Mark Bradley was there, too, so Glory could have b.u.mped into him during the break.'

'Yes, but the next next scheduled performance after Tresa's team was the team from Green Bay. So there were a lot of people with Wisconsin connections hanging around the event center. I started calling people from Green Bay who were staying in the hotel to see if anyone remembered Glory freaking out. I talked to a parent of one of the dancers, and d.a.m.ned if she didn't tell me she remembered a girl losing it outside the event center and go running off.' scheduled performance after Tresa's team was the team from Green Bay. So there were a lot of people with Wisconsin connections hanging around the event center. I started calling people from Green Bay who were staying in the hotel to see if anyone remembered Glory freaking out. I talked to a parent of one of the dancers, and d.a.m.ned if she didn't tell me she remembered a girl losing it outside the event center and go running off.'

'Did she know why?'

'No. She said that Glory was standing in front of a window in the corridor and suddenly she screamed and bolted.'

'What's on the other side of the window?'

'A patio.'

'I don't suppose we have any idea who was out on the patio.'

'Actually, we do. This woman's daughter was out there, along with the whole Green Bay team. They were getting a pep talk from their coach, who happens to be Gary Jensen. Ring a bell?'

'Oh, s.h.i.t,' Cab said. 'Our witness?'

'That's him. Call me cynical, but I don't like the coincidence.'

Cab didn't like it either. 'Are you digging into Jensen's background?'

'I'm doing that right now.'

'Could there be a connection between Jensen and Glory?' Cab asked.

'That's the million-dollar question.'

'Could Gary Jensen be this missing fugitive from Door County? Harris Bone?' 'That was my first thought, too,' Lala said, 'but no. Unless Bone managed one h.e.l.l of a sophisticated ident.i.ty theft, Jensen's got a paper trail that goes back for years. Of course, there could be some other connection between him and Harris that we haven't found yet.'

'Keep at it,' Cab said, 'and keep me posted. That's great work.'

'Thanks.'

'You've earned the wine,' he said.

'I thought so.'