“There’s something else,” Tim said. “Philip Norton.”

His tone stopped my forward momentum short. “What about him?”

“I’m not sure. There’s something familiar. I thought so the minute I saw him, but I can’t put my finger on it.” He shrugged. “Could be he has one of those faces.”

“Well, if anything hits you, let me know. You get the name of that trapper?” It was a long shot, but if he’d been on the island in the hours before Jasper disappeared, we’d need to give the man a call.

“Talked to him a few minutes ago, guy by the name of Billy Bloom,” Tim said. “He was on the premises for about four hours yesterday and left after the last of the family arrived, like Norton said. I described Jasper. Bloom saw him briefly on the dock. No contact other than that. According to Bloom,” Tim said, “he found the remnants of some yellow perch, extra stinky. He went straight home to shower, then to the Riverboat for some beers.”

“Any witnesses?” I asked, though I knew the answer. The Riverboat Pub was always jammed on Friday nights.

“Matt says Bloom was in there from seven p.m. to midnight—Matt Cutts, the bartender,” Tim said. “Bloom got so hammered Matt took his keys and called his wife. I talked to her, too. Says he was snoring next to her all night and still sleeping it off this morning.”

Tim had been busy. There were benefits to his community ties, and I reminded myself to give him a pat on the back about his swift recon work later on. It would have to wait, because behind me I heard another flagrant attempt to get our attention.

“Showtime,” I said. “Ready?”

Tim nodded, and together we turned to face the room.

I liked to think we looked intimidating in our dark rain gear and heavy boots. Tim’s shoulders were muscled and his hair was slick and black from the rain. I had height and my badass facial scar to offset my freckles and frizzy hair. I wanted to send a message: this is a serious situation, and you’re getting a serious response. Only Abella stared back at us with a mixture of wonder and fear. The others looked annoyed and a little bored.

“You’ve all met my colleague. I’m BCI Senior Investigator Shana Merchant,” I said. “I’ve had a chance to take a look at Jasper’s room.”

Slowly, their stalled energy sputtered to life. They were interested in what I had to tell them, at least. That was something. “Let me start by saying we appreciate your cooperation. Based on the evidence I’ve been able to gather so far, it appears Jasper was attacked.” A sloppy sob erupted from Abella, and the man by the window rushed to her side. From her settee the other woman shot them both a look of loathing. “I can’t tell you more than that right now, but please know we’re doing everything we can,” I went on. “This is a tough situation, but with any luck we’ll find Jasper safe and sound.”