It had started to rain again and she could hear the wind whipping the branches of the Australian pines that separated the cottage from the beach. At least, she thought, the rain would cool things down inside the house.

She turned off the burner and slid the contents of the skillet onto her plate, adding the bacon and two slices of toast.

She sat at the card table and ate, finally pushing her plate aside and picking up the file folder, where she’d shoved her stack of index cards. One of the cards had a single word scrawled across it—BOYFRIEND—followed by a series of question marks.

At least she had a name to search for now, thanks to Yvonne.

Her cell phone rang and she reached for it.

“Dad?”

“Hey kid. How was your weekend?”

Drue was tongue-tied for a moment. Brice wasn’t in the habit of making wellness checks on his daughter.

“Okay. Ben and Jonah came over and got my car running again, so that was a win.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “So, uh, our dinner didn’t end so hot the other night, did it?”

“Guess not,” Drue said.

He cleared his throat. “I talked to Wendy, and asked her to ease up on you a little bit.”

“I’ll bet that went over like a lead balloon,” Drue said.

“You know, you could try a little harder to get along with her,” Brice said. “Like it or not, we’re family. And we work together. Okay?”

“Terrific!” Drue said. “We’ll all hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’ at the next staff meeting.”

Dead silence on the other end of the phone. “Christ!” Brice said. Then he hung up.

28

July 1976

Her orange Camaro was easy to spot in the Boyd Hill Nature Trail parking lot, even though she’d parked at the far end of the lot, under the thick shade of a clump of moss-draped scrub oaks. It was a hot, sticky Monday morning. Not even eight o’clock. He pulled the cruiser nose out next to her car, the one she said her asshole husband had given her for her twenty-first birthday. For her twenty-sixth birthday, which had been six weeks ago, he’d given her a dislocated shoulder.

She lowered her window and looked over. “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Brice leaned out to get a better look. She’d gotten good at covering the bruises with makeup, but despite the thick pancake and concealer, he could see her left eye was swollen and bruised. And her lip was cut.

“Damnit, Colleen. Why do you put up with this shit? Say the word, and I’ll take care of him. Jimmy and me, we’ll hurt him bad. And he’ll never see us coming.”