It was a beautiful home: exposed wood beams held up by tapered posts, all wrapped in cherry wood. There were built-in cupboards in the front parlor with stained-glass windows and a fireplace, the arcing brick lintel stained with soot from years of use. The house held an old-fashioned charm that explained why Olivia Molinar chose to stay there even when she had the means to move anywhere in the city.

Max went to the kitchen and found three unwashed plates in the sink along with three glasses each with a trace of milk in the bottom. He crossed to the refrigerator. It was empty except for a half-drunk milk jug, a package of ham, a bag of cheese slices, and some mustard. He opened the milk jug and sniffed it. Fresh. Someone had stocked up enough to live there a few days. Peter Molinar didn’t plan on staying long.

He peeked out through the kitchen window, which looked out over the alley and park. No car. No Peter. Then he crept up the steps to the second floor.

All of the upstairs doors were closed, and he paused to listen at each before opening it. Behind the first three doors were empty bedrooms, only one of which held an actual bed. The others were being used for storage. He checked the closets. If Peter had brought Pip to St. Paul, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that the boy might be locked in one. But he found no Pip.

He went into the upstairs bathroom and found a damp towel in the hamper and a man’s bathroom kit on the ledge of the sink—the final proof that Peter was staying there, not in Falcon Heights.

The last room he checked was the largest, decorated with flowered wallpaper and lacy curtains. A sleigh bed took up most of the room, and the covers lay rumpled on top. This must have been Olivia’s room.

He opened the closet. An athletic bag lay on the floor next to a plastic bag with a Target logo. He looked in the athletic bag first; it held men’s clothing: shirts, pants, socks, underwear. Enough for a few days at most.

When he opened the shopping bag, his heart jumped. It was a toy car about the size of a football—the kind of toy a six-year-old boy would love. Below the car was a stack of coloring books. A receipt in the bag showed that Peter had made the purchase the day before. Wherever Pip was being held, Peter had a plan to rejoin him soon. That gave Max an idea.

He called Lyle. “Grab my laptop from the broom closet in the kitchen. It’s on the shelf up above.”

“You got something?”

“I think so.”

There was some muffled noise as Lyle searched for the laptop. “Here it is.”

As he waited for Lyle to fire up the computer, Max peeked out of the bedroom window, which overlooked the backyard, the alley, and the garage. Two boys now played catch with a football in the park beyond the alley. Other than that, the world was quiet.