“Look, it’s all in retrospect. When she came into the salon, another stylist was free, but she specifically asked for me, saying it was because we had the ‘same style of hair.’ Not exactly unique.” She pulled at her long dark-blond waves with perfectly manicured fingertips. “And now I’ve learned she gave me a fake name. Not cool. As much as I loved Alex, his past was a mystery to me. Maybe your friend can cast some light on it. If you find her,” she added.

Alex had shared little more with this woman about his history than Hope knew of her own. Had they been running from the same danger? “You said Hope’s chitchat only seemed odd to you in hindsight. That was after the police talked to you?”

“Yeah. After they showed me your friend’s picture.”

“So you told them everything you just said to me?” Lindsay asked.

“Yep, but did they tell me anything in return? Nope. They treated me like some bimbo.”

“Do you remember who you talked to? Was it a Detective Carter Decker?”

“Yup. That’s definitely the guy. Not exactly sensitive. Alex? Alex was sensitive. I really loved him. And he had such a strong sense of justice, a firm line between right and wrong. When that superfamous movie director got Me Too’d for making passes at teenage girls, and tried to say the times had changed since back then? It was like Alex wanted to stab him through the TV screen. Even though the guy made two of Alex’s favorite movies, Alex swore he’d never watch them again.”

The comment reminded Lindsay of Katy Barnes’s Facebook post. “This is a weird question, but did he ever mention a sports camp to you? Maybe one where kids were getting abused?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “If he had been abused, I really think he would have told me. Why?”

“Just trying to tie some things together.”

“So . . . you seem like a good person. Your friend . . . if she’s okay, will she help? Or—you know—should I just blame her for all of this?” She hiccupped and then let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Hope didn’t know your boyfriend, and she definitely wasn’t stalking him.” Lindsay realized that she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone.

“I mean . . . maybe he was seeing her on the side or something? The police said they found a woman’s necklace on his boat. I want to think it was for me, but—”

Lindsay needed to get out of this car and back to Hope. “She’s a good person,” she said, fumbling with the passenger door. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Wait. Will you call me if you find her? I need to know what happened.”

Lindsay retrieved a business card from the inside of her cell phone case and dropped it on the passenger seat. “My number’s there.”