“No, Dad,” Nic said. “One of the cops is coming with me tomorrow to meet Edith Moore. I won’t leave the inn until then. Maybe to the diner next door, but that’s all.”

Now a sigh and another moan.

“She just wants a chance at the money, Nicole. She waited almost two weeks to come forward and that doesn’t make any sense. How did she even get your number? You can’t hold on to false hope that this is more than what it is.”

Words flew from her mouth before she could stop them.

“Is that why you lied to me—about the note?”

“Oh, Nic . . .”

She hung her head, the phone still pressed to her ear. “I remember, you know. That last day of the search, when they found it.”

“So do I.

“We went to the diner to talk about it and you ordered a sandwich, Dad. And fries and a soda and you . . . you ate it . . . all of it!”

He knew what she was implying. She could tell from the silence. For the first three days, neither of them had been able to get down any real food. They’d gotten by on coffee and a few bites of toast, crackers. Walking through cornfields with strangers, hoping to find her mother, then hoping not to as the hours turned to days, making it more likely that if she was found, she would be found dead.

The credit card charge had come through on day four—taking two days to post. The note and clothing were found next. And her father’s appetite suddenly returned, like magic. Fear had transformed into resignation. And then acceptance.

“I have to find her, Dad. Even if she wrote that note and doesn’t want to be found. Even if that note was forged and . . .”

“Stop! I know what you’re thinking. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the report. I knew you’d go down that road and it’s wrong, Nic. Think about what the note said. How would anyone know those things about her? She wasn’t herself, Nicole. She was upset and nervous, but the words—that was how she felt. Only she could know that.”

“Then I’ll find her safe and sound and make her come home. Maybe the truck . . .”

He wouldn’t let her finish.

“I just can’t stop thinking about how you used to be. When you were a little girl, full of spitfire, and then a big girl and then a young woman with everything in front of her . . .”

Nic felt tears coming. Not now.

“Dad—stop!”