I hadn’t expected Nico to call me back, much less so quickly. I offered up a silent apology for calling his receptionist a bitch.

“Dr. Barlos! Thank you so much for getting back to me.”

“Please, call me Nico. You’re James’s wife, no?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wow—haven’t seen him in years, although we certainly had some wild times when we were residents.” Nico chuckled, a sound that was low and comforting. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Cabot?”

“Please, call me Maggie,” I said. “And I’m sorry to do this over the phone, but I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”

Nico’s tone shifted quickly. “Is it about James? Is he okay?”

“Oh, no. I mean, yes—he’s fine. That’s not why I called.”

“Good, good. What is it then?”

Nico’s deep voice carried a slight accent. Greek, I assumed, from his name. I tried to remember what James had told me about him. All I could summon was one word: arrogant. But that wasn’t unusual among surgical residents. The ones who weren’t arrogant were rare. And, if Nico’s website was anything to go on, he’d spent his career turning the ugly into the beautiful. That was a talent even the gods would envy.

“I’m calling to see if you remember Hannah Nilsson?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Of course I remember her. For her just to go missing like that without any explanation . . . well, it was terribly upsetting.”

“Right, of course. And I’m really sorry to be bringing it back up, it’s just . . . there’s been a development in the case. Her remains were found on Key Largo.”

“They found Hannah? Where?”

“On the campgrounds where you all stayed that weekend. They were excavating an area to construct a building and . . . they found her body buried there.”

“Oh my God.” Nico exhaled. “She was there the whole time?”

“Yes, I guess so. So, yesterday, a detective came up from the Keys to interview James. We live in Shoreham now, which is about an hour north of West Palm Beach. But the police believe Hannah was murdered, and unfortunately, they’re viewing James as a possible suspect. That’s why I called you. This is all taking a real toll on him, on our family, and . . . I was hoping that you might remember something from that weekend? Any detail that might help clear James’s name?”

“Hm. I don’t know, it was a long time ago. What kind of detail do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, really. Maybe someone you saw near the campsite or in town that weekend, someone who struck you as suspicious?”