“If this is the right guy, he may be a murderer. You’re not going after him alone, are you? If you find him?”

I could see from his expression that this might be the question that moved our relationship along or destroyed it before it even began.

“I don’t plan to risk my life or anybody else’s. I don’t plan to underestimate Kearns or overestimate my ability to stay safe the way I did before.” Then I addressed the most important part of his question, even though it hadn’t been voiced. “I’ll let you know whatever I plan to do. I promise.”

He gave a short nod. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

As we prepared to jog back to Confidence, I had a thousand things to think about. But one was paramount.

Alexander Milton Kearns had worked at what was, or had once been, a Gracey Group resort. Had we owned the club when he was arrested? And if we still owned it when Wendy began her job as the Gracey Group concierge, had my sister come in contact with Kearns during visits to the resort?

Was Kearns really a stranger, as she had claimed, or had Wendy known him for years? If so, what were they doing together at the Golden Aspen Resort and Spa on the night that Vítor Calvo was killed?

I knew they hadn’t bumped into each other while waiting for massages or mounting their horses for a trail ride. But I sure hoped something similarly coincidental was true. Because if not, maybe Wendy had gone to the resort to meet Kearns in the first place. And if so, what had happened?

Sophie or I would be able to dig up a photo of the guy on the internet, quite possibly his mug shot. We had a name and, soon, a face. I hoped she could use what I’d found and give me some answers. But I was afraid we’d just have far more questions now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Convincing Holly and Noelle that a weekend at my parents’ house would be fun was surprisingly easy. Wednesday evening Mom had called and asked their opinions on what kinds of Christmas cookies they should make together. When she promised they might have to climb a ladder to help decorate the top of her tree, she had them in the palm of her hand. The smaller tree and simpler decorations we bought and set up on Thursday felt like a warm-up. With all the fun at my parents’ house, I might never be able to wrestle them back to Wendy’s town house again.

I debated whether to bring Bismarck to Delray Beach with me, but on Friday after school, I dropped him off with the girls. Since the shopping trip, Bismarck sported a red bow on his collar complete with jingle bells. Luckily, he’s a good sport. Despite the humiliation, he still carried his head high.

“This will do your father good,” Mom said, as I lingered on her doorstep before heading to my car. The girls were somewhere in the house giggling loudly, and I could hear Dad’s booming baritone followed by a recording of “Jingle Bells.” “He’s worried about your sister.”