“There’s a door into the store from that landing, too. But it’s usually locked.”

Arthur Smith was trying very hard not to look impatient. “Okay. She came out of the side door.”

“I saw her come out that door and turn—well, it would have been her left. To walk between the pawnshop and the rental house. On her way back to the parking area. I just thought she was going to run an errand . . . but that can’t be right, because Bobo had the truck.” Would Olivia have lent Aubrey her car? Without thinking, Fiji turned to look at Olivia, who was in conference with Chuy and Joe.

“Did you talk to her, or do you know what she planned to do while Mr. Winthrop was out of town?”

“No.” She shrugged. “We weren’t close friends.” We weren’t friends at all.

“And who has Mr. Winthrop been seeing since Miss Hamilton vanished?”

“You mean . . . like dating? No one,” she said. “He’s been really depressed.”

For once, she’d surprised the lawman. They both looked over at Bobo Winthrop. He had scrambled to his feet with the arrival of the police cars. The wind was blowing his golden hair. He looked like a slightly aged catalog model—maybe for casual clothing or for a rugged lifestyle involving trucks and mountain climbing.

“He was depressed?” Sheriff Smith asked, clearly having a hard time imagining that. Then his cell phone rang, and he got it out of his pocket.

“Yes?” he said impatiently. He listened to whatever the caller was saying. Then Smith said, “That’s really interesting. Thanks.” He hung up.

“Bobo was depressed,” Fiji told him again, determined to make her point. “He was really devoted to Aubrey.”

“That’s interesting,” Smith said. “Since she didn’t exist.”

11

Bobo looked over to see that Fiji was staring at Sheriff Smith as though he’d informed her the earth was made of pie crust. He could just hear her speak. “How can you say that?” she asked, and Olivia joined her. The sheriff looked at Olivia, like every man did, but Olivia stood in front of him with her arms crossed over her middle, her face intent. “Let’s hear about this,” Olivia said.

“Mr. Winthrop,” the sheriff called, and Bobo walked over, his feet reluctant to go in the direction he had to. He could tell this was going to be a bad conversation, as if anything could make this day worse.

“Fiji?” he said, when he’d gotten to her. “What’s the matter?” Fiji didn’t speak, but she didn’t leave, and neither did Olivia. Bobo thought the sheriff looked as though he’d like to ask them to.

“I just heard from one of my deputies,” Smith said, looking directly at Bobo. “What did Aubrey Hamilton tell you about her background?”