"Not the same people?" She said it almost without thinking, as if it was the logical response. And then she realized what she had said and stared at me. "If we follow that a step further," the wheels were turning now, "who actually killed Izzy? We've assumed Guidry killed her after getting the information he needed, but maybe it wasn't Guidry at all."

"So there could be a third party involved?"

"It's not even worth asking who," said Sabrina. "But I guess it means we have to be even more vigilant than we already are."

"Is that even possible?" I asked.

A text came in from my mother telling me that her flight was boarding and warning me to be careful.

I wished her well and assured her we would be. Like I would say to my mother, "No, I won't be careful, but thank you."

We had breakfast in our room and got ready to leave.

"When you travel, do you usually eat in your room?" I asked.

"Always, unless I'm meeting someone. Is that a window into my life?"

"A picture window. Am I helping any with the trust thing?"

"Well, like I said before, I trust you."

"That's a good start. Only seven billion more people to go."

"Piece of cake."

*****

We arrived at my father's house around noon.

"Nice," said Sabrina. "It feels like an academic neighborhood."

"A lot of faculty and staff from the various colleges in the area live here. It's quiet."

"Could you live here?"

"No. Too many memories of a broken childhood. I'll sell it when the time is right."

"You're happier living in a third floor apartment in East Boston than here?" she asked incredulously.

"Says something about the memories, doesn't it?"

"What if you weren't living in it alone?" she asked.

I looked at her. Was it an invitation? She had turned bright red. It was a feeler.

"I suppose that could change things."

I left it at that. Sabrina had just taken a giant leap forward. If I put too much attention on it, she might retreat. By positively acknowledging her veiled suggestion, but not taking it any further, it would give her the comfort of having taken a step without an actual commitment.

Everything was as I left it from my last visit, my father's laptop still sitting on his desk. We took off our jackets and Sabrina threw them on the couch in his office. How often had that couch been used for grade-raising purposes? I picked up the jackets and put them on a chair in the corner. Sabrina gave me a questioning look.

"Trust me. And I don't suggest sitting on it, either." She nodded in understanding. I pulled a comfortable chair over to the desk, next to the office chair. We both sat and I opened the laptop.

I found the folder marked "Book Notes" and opened it. As I knew from my previous foray into his computer, the folder only contained one file. I guess he never felt the need to divide his research into topics.