Chewing the ball of one thumb, I tried to pinpoint the source of my uneasiness. Had some clue stared me in the face and I’d missed it? What?

The feeling had started the day before. Had invaded my dreams. Had I seen or heard something on Saturday that triggered the pestering from my subconscious?

I reviewed the day in excruciating detail. The exhumation? Scar’s murder? The Skipper ID?

No reaction from the old id.

King’s voice snapped me back.

“Sorry to leave you, but I’ve got to view a body that’s thawing fast.”

“Drop me at the Explorer. I’ll be fine.”

She did.

I wasn’t.

After grabbing a takeaway salmon burger and fries from the restaurant, I returned to my room. Minutes after downing the food, I was feeling more batshit-stir-crazy than ever.

I tramped out to the woods. Called for Tank.

Nothing. Of course not. The dog was dead. Why this obsession? Was I trying to save Ruben’s dog because I’d failed to save her?

Annoyed with my pathetic psychobabble self-analysis, I returned to my room and opened the mining book. Too agitated to read, I glanced at pictures. A schematic of a kimberlite pipe. A shot of a panned sample. A close-up of diamond indicator minerals. An aerial view of the Diavik mine.

My subconscious nagged like an eyelash bent the wrong way.

What else happened yesterday?

Katy called.

Was that it? Was I merely worried about my daughter?

No. It was something here. Something I’d missed.

I’d also talked to Nellie Snook.

A cluster of cells sat up in my id.

Oh?

I closed my eyes and replayed the visit in my mind, bringing up every bit of minutiae I could recall.

The wildlife pictures, stickers, and calendars. Daryl Beck. Ronnie Scarborough. The photos of Ruben’s dead babies. Murray the cat. The two mismatched goldfish.

Like the two mismatched sisters, I thought glumly.

I pictured the fish staring through the glass, colossal eyes bulging, redirected sun lighting their bellies.

I froze.

Adrenaline fired through me.

Heart thumping, I dug a file from my computer case, pulled out an envelope, and shook free the five-by-sevens I’d shot during my analysis of the window-seat baby.

With jittery fingers, I chose one photo and placed it beside a page in the mining book.

I pictured rainbow light reflecting off scales.

Jesus.

Diamond indicator minerals. DIMs. Each sister owned a small collection. Snook kept hers in an aquarium. Ruben kept hers in a black velvet sack.

My brain started jumping everywhere at once. A circuit of neurons landed on something Snook had said.

An idea began to take shape.

I checked a name on Google, an address.

I raced to the bathroom sink and rinsed my little ketchup container and replaced its lid. Then I repacked the file, grabbed my laptop, shoved the container into my purse, and bolted.

*  *  *