“Lakshmi’s not coming with us?”

“You kidding? She’s got a story to write.”

Lakshmi drove Mary’s car back toward campus while Caitlin and Mary took 37 South.

“Not sure what your plans are, Caitie, but you’re welcome to the cottage again, if that’s not weird. Otherwise, Aaron and I would love to have you.”

Caitlin stared at the signs for the next three exits. “Could we go down Tapp Road?”

“Seriously? I don’t think we can go to the crime scene, even if you lived it.”

“I want to go to where Woods raped me, and I’d like you to go with me.”

Mary shook her head. “You’re the patient.”

She turned east on Tapp Road, pointed out the nursing home that Chapman ran to for help, almost two miles from Branford’s house. Caitlin looked through the clumps of trees on the other side of the street, trying to guess where she herself had run from him, but everything looked different under the sunshine.

Mary warned her half a mile from the farm.

“I’m fine,” Caitlin said, “for looking, at least.”

“Then here we go.”

Even two days later, law enforcement vehicles surrounded the farmhouse. Embower’s keep looked small, maybe a quarter of the size of the Bro-duce compound.

“Lakshmi found the deed, you know, under the name Chet Watkins.”

The cornfield passed by them, happy as corn could be, all ears, no sounds.

“Branford’s real name was Chet?”

Next came the road to the Branford house and the quarry beyond.

“He showed up as a Pizza Monster shareholder. She backtracked from there, just like you taught her.”

“That’s a shame,” Caitlin said. “It was really good pizza.”

Mary laughed. “I thought that yesterday and felt like the worst person on Earth.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the best.”

Mary went somewhere sad. “I’m sorry I let the FBI into the house.”

“Don’t be. I’m sorry it took me twenty years to come back. I’m sorry I missed your wedding.”

Mary nodded. “Well, you’re here now.”

They crossed a bridge. Caitlin pointed toward the familiar sheet-metal shed of the old stone-cutting mill, and Mary turned onto a recently paved road. A new two-story building with a large parking lot took up the area in front of the old mill. A sign displayed the hours of the South Bloomington Gymnastics Center.

Mary took a spot, reached for the door. “Need me to let you out?”

Caitlin grabbed her hand. “Hold on, I’m not done apologizing.”

“And I said you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Fine, then let me thank you.”

“Well, in that case.” Mary sat back, relaxed.

Caitlin started with the easy stuff. “Thank you for being there for me, for not giving up on me after twenty years.”

“Caitie—”

“Just listen. Thanks for offering me your home, for hugging me like no one else, for your lipstick—”

“My lipstick?”