So close and yet so far away, she thought on the second day after Josh had flown out the door, his backpack draped over one shoulder, his hair flopping as he raced up the street to meet the school bus.

She finished cleaning the kitchen, then, against the wishes of everyone in the family, drove to the jail where she planned to interview Ray Dean. She’d already written the story about his arrest and how she was involved. Her editor was impressed, but he wanted more.

Ray, seated on his cot, looked at her through the bars. She sat in a folding chair and listened as he smoked and told his side of the story in painstaking detail. In the end, it seemed, his version only backed up Isaac’s rendition. They were both crooks. But Ray, she assumed, because of his record and the fact that he’d actually done the deed, would draw a much longer sentence.

Nonetheless, she got her story.

So where was that overwhelming sense of satisfaction she’d been certain she would feel? Where was her emotional payoff? Instead of a feeling of elation, she experienced a sense of loss. The mystery was over and, though she would probably get to work on more interesting stories in the months to come, she was still the same woman she’d always been just with a different set of problems.

She drove home and found a bouquet of flowers on the front step. She bit her lip as she carried the roses, chrysanthemums, and baby’s breath inside. Her fingers trembled and she mentally crossed her fingers that the bouquet was from Luke.

The card was simple: “We’re proud of you. Congratulations. Mom and Dad.”

“How nice,” she said, but couldn’t ignore the overwhelming sense of disappointment that dwelled deep in her heart. Though she’d pushed Luke away, now she missed him. “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot,” she said as she mounted the stairs, started removing her earrings and, once in her bedroom, checked the clock. Josh wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, so she just had time to—

The phone rang shrilly. She snatched up the receiver before it had a chance to ring again. “Hello?”

“Katie Kinkaid?”

The voice was familiar. “Yes?”

“It’s Ralph Sorenson again. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and even though we’ve talked a few times, I didn’t really tell you what I’m thinking. Mainly that I guess I owe you an apology for the first time I called and I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us.”

“There isn’t—”