“Let’s go find your dad,” I say, walking back into the hallway.

I dip my head into the third bedroom.

I should have guessed.

The three bridesmaids, Charlotte, Megan, and Rebecca, are sharing the bed. Lying across both Megan and Rebecca’s breasts, like a small feline bridge, is Lassie.

“Your dad is a total perv,” I whisper to Archie, closing the door and heading back toward the living room.

The only person unaccounted for is Minister Robert. He only lives a mile away, so he probably just walked home.

I carry Archie to the front window and peek out.

The street has been plowed, but in their haste, the plows pushed all the snow to the sides, entombing the cars parked there in an extra thousand pounds of snow.

No wonder everyone is still here.

Behind the giant mounds of white, crime scene tape crisscrosses the front door of my boyhood home. There are several Fairfax County Police cruisers parked on the excavated area of the street, though I have difficulty believing the FCP was given much authority as far as the case goes. My guess is that the FBI offered them guard duty, and they decided this was better than nothing.

I’m interested in how the case is progressing and decide to call Ingrid for an update.

I check my sweatpants pockets for my cell phone, then remember Ingrid has it.

It takes me a moment to locate Bonnie’s landline phone, then I dial my phone number. It goes to my voicemail, and I leave a short message that I hope everything is going well and that I love her.

She has no way to contact me, other than email, and I think about my laptop. In my rush to get out of the house yesterday, I didn’t think to grab it. I contemplate sneaking over to my dad’s house to get it, then think better of it.

Maybe tomorrow.

Plus, Bonnie should have a computer.

But first, I need to clean up and get some food.

I step into the hall bathroom, relieve myself, then run water over my hands. I notice black smudges on the fingertips of my left hand and pause.

I was fingerprinted.

In my sleep.

Of course, they would need to take elimination prints from everyone, but the idea this was done to me while comatose is eerie. Then I see it, on the palm of my opposite hand.

A small heart.

It was from Ingrid. Her way of telling me that if any funny business had been done to me while I was asleep, she was the one to do it.

God, how I love that woman.

I rub the black from my fingers, splash water on my face, and give myself a quick rubdown with a hand towel. Then I sneak into Bonnie’s master bath and find some mouthwash to rinse with. Feeling somewhat human again, I make my way to the kitchen and open the refrigerator.