She watched him walk away, and then a movement caught the corner of her eye, a shadow flickering into life before it was gone again. She looked up toward the second floor of the Bishop house, where she’d thought she’d seen something. But there was nothing in the window. Not even a silhouette.

The sky was tinted orange brown by early afternoon. Mia stood at the window as Izzy shoved clothes into her duffel behind her.

“Am I going to make it?” Izzy asked, breathy and frantic.

“We have an hour, maybe,” Mia said. “Quinn will get you out of here.”

“Okay, okay.”

Mia turned to find Izzy on the floor, patting under the couch with her good arm. “I’m going over to the Bishops’ in the morning. To sort through Earl’s things.”

Izzy’s head popped up comically fast. “Mr. Dark, Handsome, and Angry is cool with that?”

“Yes,” Mia said on a laugh. “Invited me actually.”

“Jeez, take your gun, okay?” Izzy rolled her eyes and then ducked back down.

“I don’t think he killed Robert Twist.”

“Why?” Izzy called. “He had motive. Covering up for his father, right?”

Mia nodded but then shook her head, not caring that Izzy couldn’t see her. “Earl had severe dementia. Nothing he said would have really held up in court.”

“That’s . . . actually a good point,” Izzy said, sitting back on her heels. She seemed to have abandoned whatever she’d thought she’d lost on the floor. “Covering for someone else?”

“Who else would he be invested in enough?” Mia asked.

“The girlfriend?” Izzy shrugged. “Miss Pouty Artist.”

“I am going to miss your witticisms,” Mia said dryly. “What was my nickname when you met me?”

“Ms. Badass, thank you very much.” Izzy winked, and Mia knew she was lying.

“I don’t know.” Mia returned them to their topic. “That doesn’t seem right, either. Lacey’s scared, too.”

“So is Jimmy Roarke,” Izzy said, and when Mia just stared, Izzy pushed up to her feet. “You know . . . people seem scared in general. That’s usually not a good sign.”

Mia sighed. “Maybe when you find the Bells.” She didn’t finish that thought. Who knew if Izzy would actually turn up anything useful.

Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Do you think Bix is buried somewhere on the island?”

“Izzy!” Mia laughed her surprise.

“What? Martha Lowe presented a very reasonable case,” Izzy said. “Charles Bell. Even his name sounds villainous. Maybe she’s still in the mansion. Hitchcock-style.”

They both grimaced.

“Or under the floorboards of that abandoned house up there,” Mia said, and any and all humor evaporated. The scenario was no longer far-fetched enough to inspire levity. “I’ll swing by and take a look after I’m done at Cash’s tomorrow. As the storm allows.”

Izzy looked ready to protest the idea, but she seemed to swallow the argument.