The two of them tried to picture the exact location of the address in Wheeling. As far as they could remember, Mercer ran for a few blocks downtown, near the university parking garage. Nothing of particular note in the area.

John seemed more intrigued than concerned.

Nothing scared John, a quality that Poppy found both reassuring and incredibly annoying. Years earlier, a serial killer had escaped from a maximum-security prison in Paden City, under an hour away from their home, and John didn’t even think to deadbolt the front door the night the news broke. Poppy stared at him flabbergasted the next morning. She pointed at their door. “John,” she said, “a granny could kick that thing in. You’re practically begging that serial killer to waltz in and slit our throats!” John found this terribly funny, but he also promised to deadbolt their front door until they received word that the killer had been apprehended.

Poppy studied his face. “You’re not worried.”

John shook his head. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Not worth making a fuss about.”

“Do you think we should ask the kids?”

John considered this. “I guess we could, long as it’s low-key and doesn’t get them wound up. I’ll ask Alex about it while we’re out fishing. See if she knows anybody who ever makes calls from a pay phone, or if she can think of anyone who’d be trying to get in touch with her.”

“OK,” Poppy said. “I’ll run it by Ryan sometime this morning too.”

She gazed outside. Ryan had finished his orange juice. His legs were crossed and propped up and the newspaper was spread over his thighs, but he didn’t appear to be reading.

John and Alex ate their breakfast and left for fishing before any of the Dalys had woken. Poppy served donuts and her sausage and egg casserole to everyone as they showed up. She had tried her best with Lisa’s special coffee and the French press, but it somehow came out both too thin and too gritty, so Lisa started a fresh pot.

Kimmy was the last member of the household to surface. Rae was at the coffee table, still in her Victoria’s Secret pajamas and working on a jigsaw puzzle when Kimmy entered the room. Rae offered a bright and energetic “Morning, Kimmers!”

When Kimmy didn’t acknowledge her sister, Rae threw a pen cap at her head. Kimmy swatted it away. She was not in a mood to be joked with. She hadn’t slept well, stewing all night about the fight with Rae and listening to Alex’s intermittent moaning and thrashing about with cramps, despite the Motrin that Poppy had given her.

In the light of a fresh day, the world felt significantly less grim to Kimmy, but the fight with Rae still smarted, and she was determined not to accept any niceties.

But Rae wasn’t giving up easily. “Kimmy,” she cooed from the sofa, “come sit next to me. I need your help with the puzzle.”