“So what about San Sebastian?” Mia asked, her voice low like she was talking more to herself. “The plane ticket?”

Izzy answered her anyway. “He was onto something. The killer was getting nervous, and Twist knew he needed to get off the island. Which was true. He just didn’t do it soon enough.”

They both paused a beat.

Then Izzy put voice to the question she guessed was sitting heavy in Mia’s gut, as well. “So where is Peter now?”

If Robert Twist had come to the island asking if the artist was still there, that didn’t seem to bode well for Peter.

Mia blinked a few times, too fast, then flexed her jaw. “We find him. We find him.”

“And by ‘we’ you mean a uniform, right?” Izzy clarified.

Mia grabbed for her phone. “Of course. And have them find Charles and Bix Bell while they’re at it.”

Mia muttered a curse, and Izzy knew what was wrong without having to ask.

She checked her own cell. No service. She held it up, screen out, wiggling it a little to catch Mia’s attention. Her partner looked out the window, sighed. “Landline it is.”

While Mia searched her contacts for the front desk of the police station, Izzy pulled up emails. There must have been a blip of Wi-Fi sometime recently because there were two messages from Theo sitting unopened at the top of her inbox.

“Did you see these emails?” she called to Mia before she could start dialing. “From Theo.”

Before the question was even out, Mia was hovering over her shoulder, her body curled around the back of Izzy’s. “No, what did he find in the journals?”

Izzy clicked into the thread, and they both skimmed it.

“Mentions Earl Bishop’s dementia,” Izzy said, even though Mia had read it as well. “He thought he was back in that summer during the interview.”

“Got agitated.” Mia straightened. “Cash was mad, kicked the reporter out.”

“Fits with the anger issues,” Izzy muttered, earning a nudge from Mia’s hip. “What? He’s showing a repeated pattern of violent behavior.”

“He wasn’t at the lighthouse that night, though,” Mia said.

“Says who?” Izzy countered. “Look at the fight story from a different angle.”

“What do you mean?” Mia moved toward the kettle. The water had to be cold by now, but she just fiddled with the handle, not moving to reheat it.

“No, really.” Izzy let her chair drop. They were on a roll now. “Cash makes up some bullshit story about Monroe being pregnant, him punching Asher, getting grounded. He just gave himself the perfect alibi.”

“A perfect alibi . . . that no one can corroborate?” Mia asked, disbelief in the arc of her brows. “Not quite perfect, Iz.”