The apartment was sparsely furnished. It had always been that way. He kept almost nothing personal here. None of his antiques. None of his papers or photographs or books. When they came here, he left his work in the car, but at some point when he was alone, the work disappeared. He put it somewhere. Not here. He’d been open about the fact that he had another place, but when she asked him about it, he’d said: It’s not safe for you to know. Not yet.

Drugs, the police would say. That was where he kept his drugs. But they were wrong.

She needed to find out where he lived his other life. His safe house.

Peach passed the kitchen and went into the living room. He had leather sofas and a big television, and rocking chairs by the window that looked out on the beach. They’d sit there night after night, sipping tea, watching the sunsets. He’d read poetry to her and play classical music, no matter how much she said she hated it. It was all too dark, loud, and strong.

She stood by the windows, watching the water. Looking down, she saw a dead, desiccated salamander on the tile floor. She had no idea what she was looking for here. If the police hadn’t found it, she wouldn’t either. Maybe there was nothing to find, no clue to his secret, and yet she knew Justin. He would’ve left a message for her. Something.

Justin on life after death. I want to come back and haunt you. Keep an eye open for me.

She looked around the dusty apartment and willed him to make contact with her. She was here. She needed him. What was it that you didn’t want me to know? How do I find it? She could tell from the clutter that the police had already pawed through the cabinets and drawers. Justin was typically very organized, and most of the apartment was in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it wasn’t the police. Maybe it was someone else.

Peach wandered into the bedroom, which also faced the Gulf. Sheets had been ripped off the king bed and lay in a crumpled pile on the floor. The mattress had been knifed, exposing padding and springs. Looking for drugs. Looking for anything. On her left, double doors led to the deck. The apartment bathroom was there, too, where she would shower before bed and in the mornings. She’d practically lived here. That last week, when Justin disappeared, she’d spent every night waiting for him, and he never returned. He’d been somewhere else.

Where?