The transition from kitchen to outside world was jarring. Neither of us mentioned Doug, or questioned the wisdom of leaving Swanton without seeing Harmison, while I drove Tim back to the field to pick up his car. Somehow, we’d both decided to abide by an unspoken rule: put the baggage in the back and face forward. Now, the path forward led along three connecting routes to New York.

We three-way called Mac while we drove, Tim’s car visible in my rearview mirror. She told us there had been a handyman working on Heart Island when Trey disappeared, something to do with the castle’s pipes. He had given his statement to Tim already, but it wasn’t until he heard the news report about a man dumping a tarp full of leaves in the river that he remembered something else about that day.

“The handyman saw a guy docked by the gazebo on the channel side,” Mac said. “He thought it was castle staff, but he remembers there was a tarp spread on the floor of the boat, with something bulky underneath.”

There was no record of a second worker at Boldt Castle that day, according to its manager. When Mac looked into the handyman’s claim, she found the boat matched the description of a vessel that was stolen.

A memory bobbed to the surface of my mind: Tim and I chatting next to the coffee bar at Nelly’s while his lady friend—Kelly, was it?—waited in the next room. An elderly woman named Miss Betty kept calling Tim about that boat. The thief had taken it from the RV park near the Price Chopper. The store that abutted Swan Bay.

“An hour ago,” Mac said, “that boat was spotted at Dingman Point, docked outside the little rental cottages they’ve got over there. They’re closed for the season, but the owner lives in one of them year-round. When he walked down to the water to investigate the boat, he was attacked by a man who fits Bram’s description. Bram left him where he lay, and the owner—grandpa type in his seventies, lives alone—sustained a head injury. By the time he came to and emergency services got out there, Bram and the boat were gone. We searched the other cottages, and it looks like he and Trey might have been holed up in one for a bit. Bram looted the owner’s fridge and pantry before he left.”

“That’s a good sign, right?” I said hopefully. “That food could be for Trey.”

“Or it could be for him. With that composite sketch all over the news, he’s gotta fly under the radar. Either way,” she said, “we’re going full-court press out there. I’ve been on this lead all day, and I’m not leaving anytime soon. The islands are deserted this time of year, and we’ve already got people out there looking. If that boat’s on the river, we’ll find it.”

We agreed to meet at the station once Tim and I were back in A-Bay. Within seconds of us hanging up, Tim was calling me directly.