In some ways, Beale’s death had haunted her father even more than the others. By that time, it had been six years since the first set of murders. If they had made an arrest by then, or at least warned the public that a series of unsolved murders were believed to be connected, maybe Janice Beale would have lived. On the days when Ellie was willing to accept the idea of her father pulling his own trigger, she imagined that he was thinking not about her or Jess or their mother, but about Janice Beale.

Jess nodded. As much as he tried to distance himself from her obsession with the case, she could tell he recognized the name.

“Any chance I can talk you out of getting any more involved with this Lindsay person? I’m worried you’re going back to the dark place again.”

“Rogan told me the same thing.”

“And what does Max say?” he asked.

Max. Her first call had been to Jess. The second to Steve. She had exchanged a few rounds of texts with Max about what they were going to do for dinner, and to see if he knew Lindsay Kelly, but she hadn’t told him why she had asked.

“He was in trial all day.”

She couldn’t tell if he believed her, and then his phone buzzed against the bar. He glanced at the screen and held it up. “Add another vote for letting this drop.” It was a text from Steve. I’m worried about your sister. Look after our best girl, OK? Here for you guys.

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you,” she said.

“Okay . . .”

She downed the rest of her whisky. “Lindsay’s friend Hope went missing two Saturdays ago. The last text she sent anyone was at ten thirty-three p.m.”

“And? What am I missing?” Clearly the announcement was a letdown.

“That was when I was in St. Barts.”

“So damn bougie,” he said, shaking his head in mock judgment. “Plus you went off-season, which is just kind of sad.”

“There’s some truth there, but focus. That was the night I texted you—when I woke up thinking about Dad, about when we went to the hospital.”

She waited for him to make the connection. She wasn’t going to say it out loud.

“Jesus, Ellie. You sound like Mom or something. That’s crazy.”

“I know. But seriously, I hadn’t had a nightmare like that in . . . probably at least a year.”

“So, you think . . . what? Dad was sending you a message? If he could do that, why doesn’t he just pick up the phone and tell us what happened that night? Or what? It was this woman Hope, reaching out to you from the beyond? Waking you up so you’d somehow figure out that her disappearance had something to do with Dad?”

“Come on, Jess. You’re being really harsh right now.”