A stranger’s arm bumped her, and Louisa realized she’d stopped in the center of the path. Around her, the park teemed with activity. The trees and shrubs gleamed green, the setting sun catching the sporadic gold of leaves just beginning to turn. She rarely saw her father, but knowing he was out there gave her a connection to someone, no matter how thin. Despite the steady stream of pedestrians, she’d never felt more alone.

She moved to a nearby bench and dropped onto the seat. Suddenly, she had no desire to go back to her huge, empty apartment and stare out the glass at the bustle of life she never quite felt part of. Her phone vibrated in her clenched fingers. Almost afraid to see her father’s number and hear the bad news she knew was coming, she read the caller ID.

Conor.

“Come see me,” he said. “I’ll tell you what the cops wanted.”

“You could tell me now,” she offered.

“I’ll tell you in person.”

“All right,” she said with no hesitation. Despite reservations about renewing their involvement, she was curious about the policemen’s visit to the bar. She hadn’t heard from the detectives. Had Conor learned anything about Zoe’s case? But she couldn’t fool herself. Her concern for Zoe wasn’t the only reason she ended the call, walked to the garage, and retrieved her car.

The sound of his voice eased her loneliness.

Sullivan’s bustled at happy hour. Louisa threaded her way through the tables and clusters of patrons. Laughter and conversation buzzed around her. Pat and Conor worked the bar. Pat smiled at her and gave his brother’s arm an elbow nudge. Conor’s eyes brightened when he saw her walking toward him. He set a tumbler of clear liquid on a cocktail napkin, tossed in a lime wedge, and slid it across the bar to a customer. He motioned her toward a stool at the rear of the bar. A bearded man of about thirty on the next seat looked her up and down. Conor narrowed his eyes at the man until he shrugged and turned back to his buddy.

Conor leaned over the bar. “Hi there, what can I get you?”

“Club soda.” She claimed the stool, the snugness of her skirt making the effort more of an undignified hop than the smooth slide she’d intended.

“Are you sure? We have a decent wine list and a few really good craft beers.”

“Club soda is fine.”

He reached for a glass. “Everything all right? I mean, except for your missing friend.”

She nodded, unwilling and unable to articulate her distress over her father’s call.

Setting her soda on a napkin in front of her, he scanned her face. “Dinner?”

“No, thank you.”