Ronnie wanted to tell him to stop touching Esme’s things, but she knew better than to say so. “I’m Ronnie,” she said.

“Detective Allegra,” he replied, offering his hand.

Then they just stood there. Ronnie was dying for a cup of coffee but didn’t know the protocol on hosting police officers. The Missing flyer swam in her mind. Andrea and Lauren had tried to convince her that Jerrod most likely wasn’t in Raisin Beach, but it was hard for Ronnie to let that go. She’d felt so followed lately. So watched.

And there were other things about the flyer, questions Ronnie desperately wanted to ask but was too afraid to go searching. For one thing: Vanessa. Her name had been listed as a parent. Could she still be alive?

Her heart swelled at the idea. She pictured calling Vanessa up while Jeopardy! was on, like she used to. They would call out the answers they knew; surprisingly, Vanessa was a whiz with trivia. She pictured hugging her sister again, and making Thanksgiving apple pies together, and maybe inviting her out here for Christmas.

But then her emotions took a dive, because holy shit, she’d stolen Vanessa’s child and of course she wouldn’t be inviting her out here for Christmas. Vanessa had been a neglectful parent a lot of the time, but she still loved her kid. Did she know Ronnie had been the one to take Esme? But if both of them were alive and searching, why hadn’t they made headway yet?

Unless, of course, Jerrod had.

She heard Lane and Esme rustling in the kitchen—Lane was getting ready for work, but Ronnie had argued that maybe Esme should stay home from Silver Swans another few days, until the dust settled. The last thing she wanted was for Esme to pick up things she heard at school.

Esme’s high little voice peppered Lane with questions: Is Mommy in trouble? Ronnie could only hear Lane’s murmuring baritone, not his answers.

She looked at the officer again. “Can I help you with anything?”

Allegra nodded. “Just have a few follow-up questions.”

“Any news about Piper?”

“Uh . . .” He flipped through his notes. “The same. She’s being kept in a medically induced coma for brain swelling. I don’t know much else.”

“Is her son okay?” she asked. “Is he being taken care of?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“What do you mean you’re sure? You don’t know for certain?”

He sniffed with exasperation. “Look, Ms. Stuckey, I’m trying to figure out where we should go next with all this. These sorts of things don’t usually happen in our community.”

“Yes.” Ronnie felt her stomach draw in. “I know. Of course I know.”

“First”—he kept his face very neutral—“we tried to contact your boss yesterday to get some details about your client list, but he was uncooperative.”