Nic unlocked the door. “Can you get in?”

Chief Watkins went back to his truck, then returned with two Styrofoam cups. He opened the door to the Audi and climbed into the passenger seat. He wore the same uniform as the day Nic had returned to Hastings—just three days ago. Three days. So much had happened.

“Here,” he said, handing Nic a cup of coffee.

“What’s going on?”

Nic wiped her eyes which were sticky with exhaustion. She breathed in the smell of the coffee. Then took a long sip.

“Thanks for coming. I’m sorry if I was cryptic.”

Watkins shrugged. Drank his coffee. “That’s one way to describe it.”

Nic had told him where she was and that she needed to see him. She’d asked him to tell no one.

She looked straight at him now. “I’m going to ask you some questions and they’re going to sound really strange but can you try to just answer them without asking me why or what for . . .”

Watkins held out his hand gently as though he could magically slow down her racing mind and the words that were pouring from her mouth.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll answer. Just take it easy. You seem a little wired.”

Nic started with the little ones.

“Did you know Daisy Hollander?”

Watkins’s face changed abruptly. She could see the questions begging to come out, but he held them back just as he’d promised.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Did you get her a scholarship to a camp in Woodstock?”

“Yes.”

“Did you drive her out of town the day she left and never came back?”

Now a long pause. But then an answer. “No.”

Nic was surprised. “You didn’t drive her to Boston?”

Watkins exhaled loudly. Hung his head.

“You’ve been talking to crazy Roger Booth.”

“Yes,” Nic answered.

“Okay—truth is, I was going to drive her to a train station, Hartford, most likely. But then she said she had a ride.”

“Did she say who it was?”

Another pause.

“Do you know? Tell me if you know.”

Watkins answered. Reluctantly.

“Officer Reyes. Look, I know he lies about that. But I would have lied too. Daisy was desperate to get away from Booth. The only reason Reyes took her and not me was because he had the time to take her all the way to Boston that day.”

“I don’t get it. Booth doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“He’s not—it’s just that she wanted a different life. And after the childhood she endured, and the gifts she had—she was brilliant, you know. And pretty. She was the only one of that lot, those crazy Hollanders, who had a chance. Booth would have pestered her for the rest of her life. You think he’d ever get a girl like that again?”