Mr. Branch greets us at the door. His face is pale, and his hair is a tangled nest, as though he tossed and turned all night and didn’t bother with a comb this morning. He’s wearing a faded gray Harvard sweatshirt and well-worn jeans. He escorts us to a fancy living room with soaring ceilings and large oil paintings on the walls. Embers glow in a huge fireplace that sits at one end of the room.

We ask him the same questions we’ve asked the others, and he says nothing that helps, other than he doesn’t have an alibi. He says that, after the party, he dropped Alice off at a friend’s house for a sleepover, then came home. He was home by himself the rest of the night.

He drops his head in his hands. “Do you think she’s all right?” His voice is tight and teary.

“We hope so.”

* * *

Media trucks are lined up like soldiers in formation in front of the police station when we return. Joe and I drive around the building and go in through the back entrance. The place is buzzing like a hive, alive with anxiety and the smell of bad coffee. Bob stands in his office doorway, phone clenched between his jaw and shoulder. He motions us inside, closes the door, and throws his phone on his desk.

“Find anything?” he asks, settling in his chair.

“We can’t eliminate Pearson, Ferris, or Branch. We’ve still got to talk to Mr. Westmore,” I say. “But the wife says they were home last night. He’s out on a job now.” My eyes meet Joe’s. “She’s calling him, and hopefully he’ll be here soon so we can question him.”

Bob’s face falls as though he was hoping, praying maybe, that we’d be back with the answers we need to find Mrs. Bradley.

I shake my head. “After the Pearson party, none of them has a solid alibi for last night.”

Joe leans forward. “They all had opportunity.”

“For Chrissake,” Bob says. “You guys sure that one of those men abducted Mrs. Bradley?”

I sigh. “We’re not sure of anything, Chief.”

He rubs his face with his hand while his landline phone rings.

“Anything here?” I ask. “Any developments.”

“Not a damn thing.” Bob stands, his breath coming in deep, worrisome gasps. “Okay, just keep at it.” We leave as he answers his phone.

CHAPTER 64 - Molly

CHAPTER 64

Molly

“MELINDA?”

My eyes slit open. I’ve been sitting here all day, huddled in the blankets, watching the faint light in the far window dim until it disappeared, thinking, crying, trying to figure out how to get out of here.

“Melinda?”