“I know. I’m not sure Troy is in much better shape. He’s literally shaking. But I think he has more support than Leah seems to. At least his friend was over at the house.”

“Who’s that?”

“Steven Hanzel. He started the fund-raising site. I guess it’s going well.”

“One good thing about the internet and social media. Somebody in Utah who has never met you can push a button and money comes from their account into yours. Magic.”

“Makes the old days when we circulated printed flyers when somebody was missing seem pretty archaic,” A.L. said.

“Not so archaic. I saw volunteers out this morning, tacking up posters of Emma onto telephone poles.”

“Do everything you can and then one more thing,” A.L. said. “Speaking of which, I didn’t get a chance to call Dusty Frogg yet.”

“She’s probably not our highest priority.”

“I did, however, speak to Roger Martin. He’s a neighbor who appears to encourage his dog to shit in the Whitmans’ yard.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. He thinks Troy tried to gouge his wife, Lois, on some repair work.”

“You think he has anything to do with Emma’s disappearance?” Rena asked.

“Nope. But he made sure I knew that Troy Whitman leaves his house late at night sometimes.”

Rena shrugged. “Gabe and I sometimes go out for breakfast at midnight at the diner on Forest View. It’s not a criminal activity.”

A.L. nodded. “Especially if you’re getting the biscuits and gravy. That place knows what they’re doing.”

He turned and pulled into a space to the side of Garage on Division. There were two other cars parked nearby, both empty. The building had three bays and all the doors were up, probably to let some fresh air in. He could only see one car about four feet in the air, supported by a hoist. The other two bays were empty. He didn’t see any people working. “Speaking of knowing what they’re doing, this place doesn’t seem to be doing much.”

“That looks like the office,” Rena said, pointing to a door at the far end of the building.

“Yeah.” It was difficult to see through the mostly closed blinds but he caught a shadow of something or somebody. “Let’s go,” he said.

A bell rang when he opened the door. There was a chest-high counter with a computer and a printer on it. Also a landline phone and a potted plant that looked as if it hadn’t been watered for a while. Behind the counter were two old-looking office chairs. In front of the counter and to the left was a small waiting area with three equally old guest chairs, the folding variety type, and a water cooler with a sleeve of paper cups on the table next to it.

“Hello,” A.L. called out.