Bowman rubs her nearly flawless chin. She maintains her delicate perch for another few moments and then deftly rises off the couch and reaches for her coat.

“I’m sorry I bothered you so early in the morning,” she says while she pulls one sleeve and then the other on. “I hope I haven’t made you late for class.”

I stand up too. So does Grendel, although he doesn’t have anyplace to go.

“It’s okay,” I say, pulling on my coat. “I’ll be fine.”

Bowman holds up the book. “At least I got this signed. Thanks for that.”

“Thank you for reading it,” I say.

“Are you going to be in town?” Bowman asks when we reach the door. “Are you going off on a book tour or something?”

“No,” I say. “My publisher isn’t sending me out like that. I used to think I’d get to go on a big book tour, but it’s my understanding they usually only do that for bigger-name authors. I’m doing some smaller events around the state, but nothing too elaborate.”

“So you’ll be in town?”

“I will. I have a day job. I have a lot of bills.”

“Do me a favor. If you do head out anywhere, can you let me know? I want to be able to follow up with you about this if I learn anything else.”

I can’t stop my cheeks from flushing. And I’m sure Bowman sees what I can feel. “Sure. I guess so.”

“Great.” She puts her hand on the knob but doesn’t turn it. “Say, Dr. Nye?” She lets go of the knob and straightens up. “It’s interesting. When Madeline O’Brien disappeared, we did look into whether or not she and Sophia Greenfield knew each other. Sophia’s murder and Madeline’s disappearance happened about six months apart. It turns out they went to the same yoga studio. They were friends who talked from time to time.”

“Curious.”

“Did you ever go to Yoga for Life! here in town? Are you a yoga guy?”

“I can’t even touch my toes anymore.”

“I love yoga,” she says. “But I go to the studio called Imagine on High Street. Jenn knows the owner there. It’s good for you.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“You haven’t had any other thoughts about Madeline’s disappearance, have you? I know it’s been two years, but you were pretty foggy about that last night you saw her. The last night anyone saw her, as far as we know. Anything on that?”

Bowman must now see my flushed cheeks. It feels to me like she must be able to hear my heart beating, as much as it’s thumping inside my chest. Like a fist punching the inside of my rib cage, trying to break out.

“Nothing,” I say through a mouth still dried by last night’s alcohol and this morning’s fear.