On the other side of that line was also her mother—soft on the outside, but strong on the inside. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them, her children. Molly Clarke had never missed a cross country meet or talent show. Or football game. She’d crawled into bed with them when they were sick or had nightmares. She had been the definition of home, the embodiment of family. A sacred symbol of the most primal human connection. Mother and child. How ironic that it had been her dedication that left one of them dead.

Nic had thought of her family as special. Idyllic. Perfect. Maybe Annie had been her punishment.

Kurt the bartender. He had pulled her back across that line to a time when the men she chose, the boys then, were the kind ones.

Kurt busied himself with another task. “So was she helpful?”

“I don’t know,” Nic answered. “Reyes thinks she might be lying. Something about her E-ZPass records and her story about coming from New York City. Thinks she might be after the reward money.”

“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked. “Makes sense. It is strange she waited so long. What did you say her name was?”

“I didn’t—it’s Edith Moore. Lives in Schenectady.”

Kurt’s face grew still. “Edith—kind of an older woman’s name, right? Is she?”

“Is she what?”

“Older?”

Nic shrugged. “Older than we are. Younger than my mother. Why—did you see someone from out of town that night? Before you closed the bar?”

Kurt looked up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. His hand moved to his chin. His actions seemed exaggerated, like he was overselling his contemplation.

“Don’t think so. But I also closed up pretty early.”

She asked another question, her eyes fixed on his face now so she could assess his reaction.

“But you’ve never heard of her? Edith Moore?”

Kurt took her glass and put it in the sink. He wiped the water ring from the counter.

“Nah,” he said. His voice was steady. His expression giving nothing away.

Still, something was off.

“I should go.” Nic climbed down from the stool, pushed it back in.

But Kurt stopped her. “Hey,” he said. “Did you ever follow up on that girl?”

“What girl?”

“The girl who disappeared ten years ago.”

She tried to find a trace of a memory but there was nothing. “No. Did you tell me the last time I was here?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me again?”

Kurt waved his hand dismissively, now that he had her full attention. Now that Edith Moore and the story of the truck had been pushed aside.