“Stalemate,” Frank Flynn goes on. “She still wanted to go. He still insisted that he was on the way up to the top of whatever it is he does. I told her to leave him, and I think she almost did. Not long after that, she got pregnant. Her last chance at greatness was done. Kaput. I blame him for that.”

I hold my tongue. I don’t see how having a child stymies any opportunity. My parents raised us on a shoestring, and we felt loved and encouraged. Dad worked his ass off. Mom too. And they did it all with a high school diploma and an unfailingly optimistic attitude.

“But they worked things out, right?” I ask.

Frank fiddles with the keys to the Buick. “Yeah. I guess so. I wasn’t happy about it. I really thought that the pregnancy might give her good reason to assess where she was going, but, well . . . you can’t live your kids’ lives, you know.”

I don’t think that he believes that at all. Ten minutes with this guy makes me all but certain he’d like to treat his daughter like a ventriloquist’s dummy. His words. Her voice. His plan.

We watch a couple paddle by slowly in bright green kayaks. They can hear what we’re saying, as the water carries our conversation toward them like a speakerphone. When they pass, Montrose speaks up.

“Has Sophie indicated that there was anyone bothering her?” he asks. “Maybe at work?”

Frank shakes his head. “No, an old boyfriend from high school that couldn’t let go, but that was a long time ago.” He takes his wallet from his pocket and produces a couple of photographs of his daughter. He holds one out.

“She’s beautiful,” I say.

“Always looked like a movie star to me,” he says. “So, yeah, lots of interest from coworkers and clients, but she just brushes it off. I told you she was tough, right? She’s able to deflect any unwanted attention. That’s what’s so maddening about her being with Adam.”

“What are you getting at?” Montrose asks.

“Crap,” he says. “She wasn’t all that interested in Adam. Not really. You can see why. A girl like her. A guy like that. I’m sure it sounds like I hate my son-in-law. It’s not that. I just hate average. I deplore it. Adam pursued her. He was relentless. Didn’t want to lose her. I figured she’d shake him off like a turd on her shoe, but nope. He got her. He reeled her in.”

I ask him if I can keep the photo. “I’ll return it later.”

“No,” he says. “That’s all right. I have others. Keep it, Detective. Just find my daughter.”

I can hear Helen, Aubrey, and Adam as they emerge from the cabin. Helen is carrying a tiny pink suitcase. I recognize it from the bedroom with the bunk beds. Aubrey is carrying a well-loved stuffed dog by one arm, nearly dragging it over the surface of the deck. Adam is right behind them as they come down the steps and approach the shade of the cedar. His face is expressionless. Hard to read. Maybe heartbroken. Probably in shock.