Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make these girls disappear.

Sensing movement, Harley glanced up to see Earl Buckner, the same waiter she had known as a kid, walking toward her. He was smiling at her, but there was a sadness to his eyes, as if he had forgotten what a real smile felt like.

"Well, look who it is," he said, shaking his head at her in wonder. "The prodigal daughter has returned."

"Hey, Early. You havent aged a day."

Earl chuckled. "And youre still telling fibs. I remember when your whole family used to come in here."

Harleys smile fell. "That was a long time ago."

Earl seemed to realize he had touched a nerve. "Anyway, its good seeing you here. What can I get you? The cook is making beef enchiladas todaycan't go wrong with those."

"Beef enchiladas it is."

Buckner's pencil scratched at the pad. "You a photographer?" he asked, gesturing with the rubber end of the pencil at the corner of one photograph sticking out from the file.

"Not exactly. Just taking a little trip down memory lane."

He lowered his voice. "Just be careful what you dig up. You might find not everythings the way you remember it."

She watched him go. When she was sure she was alone, she opened the file again. After the discovery photographs, she came across identification pictures of the young women culled from social media. Theresas showed her at a party, smiling sheepishly as she lofted a glass of frothing beer in a semi-circle of friends; Lisas showed her sitting on a set of weathered porch steps, a book perched on her knees, her eyebrows stitched together in concentration.

These girls had families, futures, Harley mused. How did they end up being discarded like trash?

Her mind flashed to a scuffed sneaker half-buried in sand. Feeling a sudden need to clear her head, she left a few bills on the table, scooped up the file, and hurried outside. She leaned against the wall, steadying herself against a wave of dizziness.

"Harley Cole?"

She glanced up to see a young man with sandy hair gelled casually back from his forehead. Even though he had put on thirty or forty pounds since shed last seen him, filling out what had once been his gawky frame, she recognized him in an instant.

"Bryce?" she said, flushing. "I havent seen you since"

Before she could finish, he had stepped forward and put his arms around her for a quick hug. He smelled of sandalwood and sage.

His cheek brushed hers as he pulled away. "You look lovely," he said, his eyes bright.

"All that fresh fish, I guess," she joked.

Boston, right?

She nodded. He studied her more seriously now, the moment dragging on just a beat too long.

"So," Harley said with a deep breath, "what are you up to these days? Did you ever get to Dartmouth?"