“Was that…?” asked George, looking back at Riley.

Riley nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “That was Beverly DeSantos.”

“It’s possible she didn’t hear that, though,” said Bess sympathetically. “Right, George? Nancy?”

Neither George nor I answered. It was pretty clear that Beverly DeSantos had heard everything, and Riley seemed to know it too. Looking at Riley, I couldn’t tell if she was more embarrassed at being overheard or frightened of becoming the next kidnapping victim if Beverly really was staging a curse. The color had yet to come back to Riley’s face, and she no longer seemed to feel like answering our questions.

Eventually Riley stood and told us she wasn’t feeling that hungry anymore. “I think I’m going to head back to the hotel,” she said. “I need…” She took a break here, as if she was thinking of what to say next. “Something for my camera,” she finally said.

“Of course,” I said, even though I didn’t really believe her. “Thank you for your help, Riley.”

She smiled at that and seemed genuinely pleased to have assisted us. “If it’ll help you find the missing people, then it was worth it,” she said. “I just hope I’m not next.”

“You won’t be,” I promised.

The fabric of Riley’s yellow raincoat squeaked against itself as she put her hands through the sleeves. “Thanks, Nancy,” she said. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Not long after Riley had stepped out through the front door, our food came: Bess’s french toast and fresh fruit, George’s stack of pancakes, and my omelet and toast. Riley’s scrambled eggs came as well, even though Riley was long gone. Bess happily ate them herself.

When our food was nearly gone, Bess turned to me and said, “So what do we do now?”

I already had a plan. “Well,” I said, “I want to head back to the museum to get a good look at both photographs: the one with Grace Rogers, which I didn’t get to see earlier, and the one from this morning, with that girl’s boyfriend. Maybe there are some clues, or something I missed during my first look.”

Bess and George nodded.

“And if it’s possible,” I continued, “I’d like to find that girl from this morning and talk to her. The one who was crying in front of the museum.”

“She went to the police station, right?” asked George, around a final bite of pancake. “To be questioned. Should we go there?”

Bess rolled her eyes at George’s table manners. But really, George was correct.

“Right,” I said. “I’m guessing she’ll be there awhile. So the museum, and then the police station.”

We finished up our meals and headed outside. The rain hadn’t started again, but the sky was a dark gray and it looked as though it might pour at any moment. George pulled the hood of her parka up over her head as a precaution, and Bess had her umbrella shut but still at the ready, just in case. I left my hood down and my raincoat unzipped. I don’t mind a little rain.