“Right,” Myron said. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

That was when he spotted the teenage girl who had gone to Ripley’s with Patrick Moore. Myron gestured to Esperanza. She nodded back. They’d already agreed to approach her together, figuring that as a couple, they might come across as less threatening and yet more authoritative.

Esperanza took the lead. “Tamryn Rogers?”

She stopped, looked at Myron, then back at Esperanza. “Yes.”

“My name is Esperanza Diaz.”

“I’m Myron Bolitar.”

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

She took half a step back. “Are you cops?”

“No, nothing like that,” Esperanza said.

“I’m sixteen,” Tamryn Rogers replied. “Talking to strangers isn’t really my thing. So, uh, bye, now.”

Esperanza glanced at Myron. They both got it. Nice wasn’t going to work here. Myron went straight at it.

“I saw you today,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“At Ripley’s. A few hours ago. I saw you.”

Tamryn Rogers’s mouth formed a small O. “You’re following me?”

“No. I was following Patrick.”

“Who?”

Esperanza took that one. “The boy you met up with today.”

“That’s not . . .” She stopped herself and took another step away from them. “I didn’t meet up with anybody.”

“I saw you,” Myron said.

“Saw what exactly?”

“You met up with Patrick Moore.”

“I went to a museum,” she said. “Some boy started talking to me. That’s all.”

Myron frowned at Esperanza. Esperanza frowned at Tamryn. “So you didn’t know the boy before today?”

“No.”

“Never saw him before?”

“Never.”

“You always hug boys you’ve never met?” Myron asked. “Give them a little kiss on the cheek before you leave?”

“Look, no one is trying to get anyone in trouble here,” Esperanza said. “We are just looking for the truth.”

“By spying on me?” She turned to Myron. “I’m sixteen years old. What kind of man spies on a sixteen-year-old?”

“A man who is trying to find another sixteen-year-old,” Myron said. “A man who is trying to find a boy who has been missing for ten years.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Myron said. “How do you know Patrick?”

“I told you. I don’t know him. He just started talking to me.”

“That’s not true,” Myron said.

“You”—Tamryn pointed at Myron—“stay away from me.” Then she turned to Esperanza. “You too. Leave me the hell alone or I’m going to scream for help.”

She started toward the door.

“We could talk to your parents,” Myron said.

“Go ahead,” she shouted, drawing a few glances. “Just leave me alone!”

She hurried toward the glass door and entered. Myron and Esperanza watched her take out her ID, swipe it, and head toward the elevators. When she was out of sight, Myron said, “I think that went well, don’t you?”

* * *

“So,” Myron said to Esperanza, “how does a wealthy girl from Manhattan know a boy who has been missing ten years?”

“Most obvious answer is that he hasn’t been missing for ten years,” Esperanza said.