Ridding herself of Quinn really was like trying to remove a finger toy. The woman’s sense of entitlement was bolstered by a practiced helplessness. But the landing was on the way back. Just a quick detour. Emily texted Frank to let him know she’d be another twenty minutes or so. She was about to put the phone away when it chirped. Becca. By then they’d reached the side street that led down to the boat basin and the light-rail station.

“Turn here,” Emily said, and let Becca’s call go to voice mail.

The commuter lot was half-empty. An outbound train must have just left, because a few cars were pulling out as Quinn pulled in. A lone woman stood on the platform, waiting for an inbound train. Quinn parked and got out.

Emily remained in the car and listened to Becca’s message. “Can you meet me and Mrs. Murphy at the storage place tomorrow morning at ten? They’re going to break open the unit for her.”

Emily texted back a quick okay and sent a second message, to her mother, asking if she’d be able to drive up early the next day. Then she got out of the car and joined Quinn under a streetlight at a railing that separated the parking area from the river.

Quinn folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. A stiff breeze whipped her dark hair away from her face as she stared past the cattails and loosestrife, past the deep shadows into the inky darkness beyond the water’s edge. Across the river on the opposite bank, Emily recognized the warren of storage units with saffron-colored doors that were lit up a short distance downstream. Inner Peace Storage. She hadn’t realized the storage facility was so close to the town wharf.

Quinn said, “I thought I’d feel him here. Feel something. But I don’t.” She turned and scanned the commuter lot. “Where do you think they found his car?”

Emily followed Quinn through the lot, from one pool of light to the next, and onto the boat ramp at the far end. There was no lighting there, and it took a few moments for Emily’s eyes to adjust. Boats were lined up nearby and kayaks were chained like bikes to a rack.

Quinn ventured down the boat ramp and crouched. The sky was dark. No moon. No stars. An empty plastic water bottle bobbed at the water’s edge. A length of twisted nylon rope was trapped in the weeds. Quinn picked up a pebble and overhanded it into the water. Bits of light glinted where it splashed down. Quinn was reaching for another pebble when Emily noticed a white card caught in the weeds. It was blank except for a large 37 printed in bold type. It could have been a bidder card. Walter Newell had been to an auction.