“Yeah. I guess. Okay, go for it.” When Chase leaves, I send a picture of the necklace to Mrs. Bradley’s number with a message asking if she knows who it belongs to.

Lauren walks in holding her laptop. “I might have something, Rita!” She drops down on the chair facing me. Lauren doesn’t usually get too excited, so her exuberance has my full attention.

“What?”

“Okay.” She sets her computer on the edge of my desk. She needs two hands to relate her story, I guess. “On a hunch, I’ve been searching for missing persons with the initials A.R.”

“And?”

She takes a big breath. “Annalise Robb. Twenty-four years old. Disappeared from a bar last summer. She and her boyfriend got into a fight, and she stormed out. Her mom filed the report the next day when she hadn’t returned.”

“No leads since then?”

“I couldn’t find anything. The sheriff on the case is a Tom Skinner. I’ll forward his number to you so you can give him a call.”

“Why do you think the necklace belongs to her? Could be a lot of A.R.’s out there who lost a necklace.”

“Because there might be a connection to Dr. Bradley.”

I look up from my computer screen. “How’s that?”

“She disappeared in Mountclair, New Hampshire.”

“Huh. Thanks, Lauren. I’ll give him a call then.”

She grabs her laptop and bounces on her way. I look back through my notes, just to be sure. Sometimes those innocuous questions bear fruit. That’s why I ask them despite people’s impatience. I grab my reading glasses and skim down the page, stop where I’ve sketched a little house, and find what I’m looking for. The Bradleys’ mountain home is definitely in a little town called Mountclair. Holy shit. I dial Sheriff Skinner’s number.

After I speak with a woman, my call is transferred to the sheriff. He answers, voice gruff.

“Hello, Sheriff. This is Detective Rita Myers with Graybridge PD down here in Massachusetts. How are you?”

“All right, Detective. What can I do for you?”

“We’re investigating a homicide and found a woman’s necklace at the scene, and we’re wondering if it might be connected to a case of yours.”

“And why’s that?”

“The necklace has the initials A.R. on it, and we’ve discovered that you’ve got a missing woman with those initials.” I stretch my legs under my desk.

“What’s this necklace look like?”

“Hold on. I’ll send you a picture.” I wait for the technical stuff to happen. Listen to the sheriff breathing on the other end. He’s either a husky guy or has asthma, by the sound of it.

After a minute, he clears his throat. “Where’d you say you found this necklace?”

“In the home office of our vic. Here in Graybridge. Forty-year-old local psychologist.”