So what did Vanessa’s case have to do with what happened to Leigh? Maybe nothing. Maybe Brandon was paranoid. He could admit that he was on edge about Leigh’s safety. It was possible Leigh’s attack had nothing to do with the missing-person-probable-murder case he had in his lap. Leigh had crossed paths with plenty of lowlifes and criminals in the course of her work. But still he couldn’t ditch the nagging feeling that Leigh had stumbled into something, and whatever—or whoever—it was, was related to the break-in at the law firm. Leigh had a way of pushing people. To him, it was a turn-on. But he could see how that same pushiness might piss someone off.

Brandon took a last look around, then trekked past the gatehouse, where an attendant was eyeing him curiously. No doubt he’d noticed Brandon’s unmarked police car and probably drawn a connection with the law enforcement activity on the other side of the lake yesterday.

Park headquarters consisted of a small log cabin with a stack of firewood outside and a hand-painted sign: $10 BUNDLES. The months-long burn ban had recently been lifted, and people had resumed campfires and s’more roasting.

Brandon stepped inside the building, taking off his shades as he approached the counter where an attendant perched on a stool. The woman was thin, midforties, and had a long dark braid that hung down her back.

“Afternoon.” She smiled. “What can I do for ya?”

Brandon flashed his badge and introduced himself.

“You guys book most of your reservations online, or do people just show up?” he asked.

“Some of both. But if they show up during the high season, they’re probably out of luck. That’s fall and spring, when the weather’s milder.”

Brandon nodded at her computer. “Can you look up a name for me?”

She pursed her lips.

“Vanessa Adams,” he said. “I think she was here in the spring sometime, maybe February.”

Without comment, she turned to her computer. “That’s the girl who went missing.” She glanced up. “We had divers on the lake yesterday.”

Brandon nodded but didn’t elaborate.

The attendant typed in the name. “No record found. But someone else could have booked it. You know what car she was in?”

Brandon took out his cell phone and pulled up a photo he’d snapped of the license plate on Vanessa’s abandoned Toyota. He recited the plate, and the attendant tapped it in.

“No record found,” she repeated. “Maybe her friend drove?”

Brandon had thought of this already and had the plates for both of Vanessa’s exes ready to go. Jason’s turned up nothing. Then he recited the license plate for Cooper Collins. The woman’s face brightened.

“That one, we’ve got,” she said. “February twenty-seventh of this year. A Mr. C. Collins.”

“Just one night?”