Charlie moved to her side, but the calm his presence normally brought was overshadowed by the dread growing in her chest. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his front shirt pocket. Unfolding it revealed Noah’s drawing. “We found this.”

Lane took the coloring page. “Noah made it for Miguel. Why do you have it?”

“You know Miguel paints? Sculpts?”

“Yes.” Her thoughts went to the barn behind Miguel’s house. Canvases, paint, wood shavings, and stumps. She looked absently in the direction of the backyard, where the carved sculpture that she had no doubt Miguel’s scarred hands had created claimed the highest bid of the night. And now the artist was missing? “But what does that have to do with him being missing?”

Charlie knelt in front of her. “We were called to Miguel’s house for a reason. Sydney Donovan also painted.”

There was a pause—she didn’t know how long—before the meaning behind those words and their looks struck her like a bolt of lightning. “You don’t think—no. You’re wrong.”

“Honey—”

“You think he’s involved in Sydney’s death?” Lane searched Sheriff Huggins’s face. The two men were friends. Ms. Byrdie said they had served together in the war. “You know he can’t be involved.”

“The other night when he came in . . . when he hit you—”

“I told you it was an accident.” Lane instinctively put her hand to her cheek.

Charlie nodded. “You said he’s been different . . . PTSD can manifest in many ways.”

“PTSD doesn’t make him a killer,” Lane snapped at Charlie. “You have no idea what it must be like for him.”

“Lane, I’m not saying he’s guilty of anything.” Charlie’s voice was soft. “But I’ve seen plenty of hurting people do terrible things they can’t take back—”

“The catering company said they only sent four employees,” her father said as he stepped into the living room. “They emailed the profiles of the servers, but the man I asked to remove his earring wasn’t among them.”

Charlie resumed his standing position, taking in the information even as his eyes remained on her. She looked away. How could Charlie even think Miguel was capable of killing Sydney? He didn’t know Miguel like she did.

“Someone was in our home uninvited?” Wes walked in behind their father, his arms folded across his chest.

Lane’s mother and sister hovered near the threshold, their faces a mixture of curiosity and concern—though Meagan’s looked a little pale.

Charlie exchanged a look with Sheriff Huggins. He pulled out his phone, tapping something on it before turning it toward her father. “Sir, do you recognize this man?”

“No.”

Sheriff Huggins sat forward. “Ray, you’re sure you haven’t see this man tonight?”

“Maybe one of the servers?” Charlie added.