“You were eleven,” Myron said.

Clark nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. Where were you when it happened?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m just taking another look at the whole thing, that’s all.”

“So what do I have to do with it?”

“Nothing,” Myron said. “But that’s how I do it. Investigate, I mean. I stumble in the dark. I ask a lot of dumb questions. Most go nowhere. But sometimes even a dumb question creates a spark.”

“I was in school,” Clark said. “Mr. Dixon’s class. Fifth grade.”

Myron considered that. “Why weren’t Rhys and Patrick in school?”

“They were in kindergarten.”

“So?”

“So in this town, kindergarteners only go for a half day.”

Myron mulled that over for a moment. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing really. I came home from school. The police were here.” He shrugged.

“See?” Myron said.

“See what?”

“You helped.”

“How?”

The front door opened. Brooke stepped out. “Myron?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just talking to Clark.”

Without another word, Clark put the lead on the dog and started jogging toward the road. Myron headed toward Brooke, not sure if he should kiss her cheek or shake her hand or what. Brooke pulled him in for a hug, so he went with it. She smelled nice. She wore blue jeans and a white blouse. They looked good on her.

“You’re early,” Brooke said.

“Do you mind showing me the kitchen?” Myron asked.

“Getting right to it, eh?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to ease into it.”

“You thought right. This way.”

The floor was marble, so their footsteps echoed in the three-story foyer. There was a grand staircase, a look you didn’t often see in real life. The walls were light mauve and covered in tapestries. There were steps to move from the living room into a rectangular kitchen the approximate size and dimensions of a tennis court. Everything was either white or chrome, and Myron wondered at the effort it must take to keep a room like this clean. There were floor-to-ceiling windows offering a rather breathtaking view of the backyard, a swimming pool, and a gazebo. Farther out, Myron could see the start of the woods.

“So if I remember the police report right,” Myron said, “your nanny was by the sink.”

“That’s right.”

Myron spun to his left. “And the two boys were sitting at the kitchen table.”

“Right. They’d been out playing in the yard.”

Myron pointed out the windows. “The backyard?”

“Yes.”

“So they’re playing outside. Then your nanny brings them in here for a snack.”

Myron walked over to the sliding glass door and tried it. It was locked. “They would have come in this door?”

“Yes.”

“And then she left the door unlocked.”

“We used to always leave it unlocked,” Brooke said. “We felt safe back here.”

That quieted the room.

Myron broke it: “According to your nanny, the kidnappers were wearing black and ski masks and all that.”

“Right.”