The kitchen was a tasteful balance of antique and modern, with exposed wood beams and sleek countertops. Tillman and Murray took a seat at the breakfast bar while Mrs. Finch worked the gleaming espresso machine. She set down the coffees and looked at them expectantly.

“You might have heard about a party that took place on River Road on a Friday, three weeks ago? Local kids, by the looks of it, but the property ended up sustaining major damage.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “We didn’t hear anything. The river is a few miles from here.”

“Mm-hmm,” Murray agreed, checking his notepad. “Mrs. Finch, I understand that you have a son? Hunter?”

“Stepson,” she corrected him. “And you can call me Lindsay.”

“Of course. Is he at home?”

“No, he’s not. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I haven’t seen him since he left for school this morning. It’s a long commute.”

“He doesn’t attend the local school?”

“That’s right, he’s at Collegiate Prep, or at least . . .” She stopped, and she looked like she was going to say more, but she didn’t.

“And how old is Hunter?” Murray asked.

“He’s eighteen,” Lindsay said.

“An adult,” Murray said.

Lindsay gave a short laugh. “I guess so. He doesn’t really seem like one, though.”

“As I said, it looks like this party was mostly local kids, but we’re just trying to be thorough here. Would you happen to remember where Hunter was on Friday, April twenty-fifth?” Murray asked.

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t exactly ask my permission before he goes out.”

Murray nodded sympathetically. “Teenagers,” he said. “Would your husband know, perhaps? We could come back.”

“I don’t know.” She looked nervous. “Let me look at my planner. Maybe that will jog my memory. I’d hate to bother Dom if I can help you myself. He’s very busy, and I doubt he would know anyway.”

“That would be great,” Murray said, exchanging looks with Tillman as she went to find her purse.

She came back with an old-fashioned leather-bound planner, which Murray, as a committed pen and paper man, appreciated. She paged through it for a moment and then stopped, looking at the entry for a moment before she answered, as if she was trying to make up her mind about something.

“Hunter was here that Friday,” she said. “He had two girls over, and they slept here. Downstairs, of course.”

“That’s great,” Murray said, noting it down in his book. “And you had that in your planner? You’re way more organized than I am.”

Lindsay laughed. “No,” she said, “but I do have a note the next day that I needed to take my car into the shop. Hunter borrowed it that Friday and got the side scratched up. He was supposed to take it himself, but of course he didn’t.”