He turned the photo of Peter over, and there was on old note attached to it. Well, attached wasn’t quite the word; the tape had almost melted into the photo paper from years of being stored in humidity. Nothing here was preserved in storage, and the photos looked like they were beginning to warp. While he’d spent hours studying his father’s notes, he hadn’t looked at the photos. There it was. The little detail he’d missed.

Other case connected? 1944.

No one had ever mentioned another case. He searched his father’s drawer, where he’d kept Peter Beaumont’s file. There was no other case. Ben inspected the writing more closely. This wasn’t his father’s penmanship. Given that it was stuck on the back of a photo, he wondered if his father had even gotten this message. The police files from the 1940s were all archived in the courthouse basement, and he wasn’t sure what he should look for. None of the archives were online. There had been no murders since the 1930s, so it was safe to limit his search to missing persons cases. He could call Kim and see if it was easier for her to check the newspaper archives on microfilm from that year for any missing persons case. He lifted the receiver to call over to the newspaper and then, remembering their lunch Sunday, thought better of it. He grabbed his keys and walked the block to the courthouse.

On the way, he stopped in for a black coffee at the Feed Supply. He wasn’t sleeping well these days, and he found it hard to stay awake in the early afternoon. A coffee might be exactly what he needed. Caren Jackson was restocking pastries after the morning rush.

“Moving from croissants to cupcakes, I see.” Looking around the coffee bar, he was impressed with what Caren had done with the old hardware store. Every business in Kerrigan Falls was housed in a building that “used to be” something else. The old floor still had that heavy sound as your feet moved over the solid planks. He’d once come here with his dad, poring through the drawers and drawers of screws and nails. Now they housed tea bags and coffee beans. The rich jewel tones of the velvet sofas and chairs mixed well with the weathered leather Chesterfield chairs and sofas Caren and Lara had found.

Caren laughed. “Can I interest you in an almond croissant? It only has about an hour of good life left in it. I usually order them for our mutual friend, who is probably enjoying the real thing in Paris.”

“Sure,” said Ben. “I usually only see her for dinner, so I wasn’t aware of her croissant habit.”

“Have you talked to her?” There was a hint to Caren’s voice that she had inside knowledge of his budding relationship with Lara. If you could call it that.