In a restaurant on the strip, they ate tacos and Evan and Liv drank too many margaritas. He and Liv laughed, flirted, and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Embarrassed, Maggie pretended not to notice and helped Tommy color the kids’ menu, which doubled as a small coloring book.

After dinner they walked through the tourist shops, then made the perilous journey back to the rental property. Maggie insisted on riding the bike with the child seat with her little brother, saying Evan had downed too many cocktails.

Evan and Liv rode side by side. Her hair blew in the wind, and she looked lovely in the sundress and sandals Maggie had packed for her. At one point she challenged Evan to a race, and he pumped his legs with everything he had. The old bike jostled and Evan had a hard time maintaining control. The front tire skidded on some gravel. Evan careened in slow motion off the asphalt and into the small weed-filled ditch lining the road. Liv threw down her bike and ran to him, concerned, but when she approached, Evan pulled her to the ground and the two lay in the weeds, laughing hysterically, their daughter looking at them like they’d lost their shit.

It was, Evan thought, one of the greatest nights of his life.

CHAPTER 48

SARAH KELLER

Keller sat at the desk in the dreary Adair Motel, her investigation notes and files spread out in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” her husband said through the speaker on her iPhone.

“I’m just so damn frustrated,” Keller said. No, fucked was the word Louise Lester had used earlier that day, and Lester fought lost causes for a living. “This is going nowhere. And I’m supposed to give Stan a report in the morning. He’s getting a lot of pressure from D.C.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Bob said. She wished she could bottle his confidence in her, consume several gallons a week. She’d been gone only three days, but she missed his calming presence. Missed cuddling the twins. Missed sleeping in her own bed.

“I’m no closer to figuring this out than I was the day I first met Matt Pine. And get this, I just got a call from the lab. My big lead—the blood the filmmaker’s investigator found at the scene—it wasn’t even blood. They think it was marinara sauce.”

Bob barked a laugh. “Spaghetti sauce?”

“It’s not funny.”

“Wait, you’re telling me the blood sample wasn’t genuine; it was an impasta.”

“Really?” Keller grinned in spite of herself.

“Sorry,” Bob said, “I’m around six-year-olds all day.”

The situation was so ridiculous, you almost had to laugh. She didn’t know what she dreaded more, telling Stan—who’d have to report the spaghetti sauce up the chain of command—or telling the Adlers.