Except Caitlin knew she wasn’t doing any of those things. The girl ate, drank, and breathed Angela Chapman. She’d have her phone on and ready for any sort of news. Not just from Caitlin but from Doris as well.

Where the hell are you?

Caitlin’s stomach dropped. She’d told Lakshmi to follow the corner boys. The corner boys all worked for Amireau—the guy with the restraining order against her. Lakshmi could very well be in jail. But Greenwood would have mentioned it, right? They had slept together, after all.

She reached for her phone, started to dial, then stopped, dropping her face into her palms.

Slow down, Bergman. You’re losing it.

She took a breath, exhaled, then dialed her phone.

The sound of Scott Canton’s voice brought a moment of peace.

“Scott, sorry to bug you on a Saturday, but I’m losing my shit.”

“I never mind a bee that brings me honey, but what has you in such a frenzy?” He listened patiently as she summed up the situation, then responded in a reassuring tone. “The other day I dropped my phone in a toilet. By the time I got back from the mall with a new one, I had eight missed calls—and I’m seventy. You might be overreacting.”

Caitlin kicked the parking lot curb with her trainer. “Apparently that’s my thing now.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sure she’ll call soon. In the meantime, allow me to present a calming distraction for the next two hours.”

“Where are you?”

“Fishing, dear girl. Come fish with me.”

Chapter 32

CHAPTER

32

HALF AN HOUR later, still no response from Lakshmi, Caitlin found Scott Canton on the south shore of Lake Lemon, locking oars into a rowboat. He wore a floppy hat, a multipocketed vest, and khaki shorts, but Caitlin didn’t see the one tool every fisherman needed.

“Was I supposed to bring the pole?”

“On days like today, I fish for beauty and truth. Same process, less mess.” He nodded toward the folder in her hand. “I don’t remember assigning any homework.”

Caitlin held her assault report up to her chest. She’d run back to the guesthouse, changed clothes, headed for the door, then stopped. She could have shown up without the folder, but the contents weighed down her every step. “I’m tired of overreacting, Scott, tired of losing my shit. Do you think we could—”

He nodded and offered his hand in assistance. “I think we must.”

She got into the boat, and he took them into the still sheet of blue. No more than half a mile across, but twelve miles wide and surrounded by dense forest, clumps of reeds, and the occasional home. Caitlin dipped her fingers in the water. Cool, but not frigid.

“I love it here,” Scott said between strokes. “Twenty-six miles of shoreline, hardly any speedboats.”