I shut my car door and walked across the muddy drive. The house had, at one point, been sided with wide white aluminum. But that had been a long time ago and now the metal was dusty and flaking. The roof’s shingles were starting to curl with age and the wooden window frames needed some serous maintenance. Still, the place was clean and tidy, and even though large snow piles lingered everywhere, I could tell the yard had been raked free of leaves in the fall and mowed one last time before the snow fell.

Inside, a curtain twitched and the front door was open by the time I’d climbed the warped porch steps. The older woman I’d met at Shomin’s Deli stood in the doorway, her face working its way into politeness. “Hello, Minnie. What are you doing way out here?”

I smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Anderson. I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Ryan.”

“Oh, honey, call me Danielle. And I’m so sorry, but I’m headed out. I’ve been up here for days, and my boss needs me back at work. There’s only so much time I can take off.”

“You’re headed back downstate?”

“It’s time for me to go,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do here, and it won’t do anyone any good for me to lose my job.” She paused, then tacked on, “Thanks so much for wanting to help. But I really don’t think there’s anything you can do from here on out.”

“Um, sure.” I searched in my coat pocket, found my wallet, and pulled out a business card. “I wrote my cell number on the back, so you can text me yours. If I learn anything about Ryan, I’ll let you know right away.”

She thanked me again, murmured that she really had to get going, and shut the door.

It wasn’t until I was halfway to Chilson that I realized she’d never answered my question about hearing from her son.

Chapter 4

The first step in the investigative plan had been to sit down with Ryan’s mom and share absolutely everything we knew, taking notes all the while. The second step had been to talk one-on-one with Ryan’s upstairs neighbor, Keegan Kolb. I’d been prepared for her being at work, so I’d left another of my business cards in her roadside mailbox, complete with handwritten cell number and a note asking her to call. Maybe she would and maybe she wouldn’t, but if she didn’t, I knew where she lived. If I didn’t hear from her in a day or two, I’d figure out a non-stalkerish way to connect with her.