The dip and swing of her voice was nearly melodic as she directed them to take a seat “Wherever you like.”

“That’s the Ellen that Quinn mentioned?” Izzy asked as they shrugged off their jackets and slid into one of the booths.

Mia peeked over her shoulder and then turned back to the table to grab one of the menus. “Don’t ask her anything yet, okay?”

In the light pouring through the window, Izzy could see each sleepless night in the thin veins that crisscrossed beneath Mia’s eyes, saw the toll of being back on the island in the downward slant of her lips, in the lines by her mouth. Some of her careful mask worn down after her moment with Quinn.

Trauma and grief didn’t have an expiration date, and working this case had to be a shock to Mia’s system. It was understandable, but Izzy wondered just how much it was compromising Mia’s objectivity when it came to the case.

They waited in silence for the few minutes it took for Ellen to make her way toward the table. After they’d placed their order, Mia stopped Ellen before she could turn away.

“You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

The waitress’s smile dimmed, the dimples slipping so that her cheeks were smooth. “No, moved here a few years back.”

“When I was younger, I lived here,” Mia said. “I was just trying to place you but wasn’t sure.”

Ellen paled further. “I didn’t grow up here.”

The reaction was out of sync with Mia’s casual tone. Hunted. Ellen looked hunted. But they’d barely asked her any questions yet.

By now Izzy was realizing that most people on the island probably knew exactly who they were and what they were after. But this was small talk. Only someone who was hiding something would flinch over it.

“Ah, okay.” Mia’s tone was still relaxed, but Izzy could tell she was surprised as well. “How do you like St. Lucy’s?”

Ellen took a step away from their table, her flight instinct obviously triggered. “If I can’t get you guys anything else?” But it wasn’t really a question, as she was almost out of range of a normal conversation by the time she finished the sentence.

They’d played the interaction wrong. Mia had played the interaction wrong.

It didn’t happen often, not for Mia. But maybe Ellen’s sunny facade had thrown her.

“Actually.” Mia stopped Ellen before she could retreat to the kitchen completely. “You can get us some answers to a few questions.”

Any last traces of warmth that had been left seeped out. “I don’t think I have any of those.”

Mia sighed and dipped a hand into an inner pocket. She pulled out her badge, held up the leather case, ID facing out. “Now how about those questions.”