We go to the second-floor computer lab, which is mostly empty, and sit at two computers in the corner. I pull up Owen’s freshman and sophomore yearbooks on one computer. And Bailey pulls up his junior and senior years. And, side by side, we begin looking up students from Cookman’s class one at a time, hitting the roster alphabetically. Our first candidate: John Abbot from Baltimore, Maryland. I find him in one grainy photograph with the ski club. He doesn’t look much like Owen in the photograph—thick glasses, full beard—but it is hard to rule him out completely just based on that one photograph. We find too many potential hits when we google just his name, but when I cross-reference with skiing, I find that John Abbot (Baltimore native, UT-Austin grad) now lives in Aspen with his partner and their two kids.

We are able to rule out the next few male students on the list much more easily: one is five feet tall and has curly red hair; another is six foot four and a professional ballet dancer who resides in Paris; one is living in Honolulu, Hawaii, and running for state senate.

We are on the Es when my phone rings. HOME comes up on the caller ID. For a second, I imagine that it’s Owen. Owen is back at the house, and calling to tell us that he has worked everything out, and we need to come home immediately. So he can explain the parts that don’t make sense. Where he has been, who he was before I knew him. Why he has left these things out.

But it isn’t Owen on the phone. It’s Jules.

Jules is responding to the text I’d sent her at the hotel bar, asking her to head to the house, asking her to find the piggy bank.

“I’m in Bailey’s room,” she says when I pick up.

“Was anyone outside?” I say.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see anyone strange in the parking lot, and there wasn’t anyone on the docks.”

“Would you close the blinds while you’re there?”

“Already done,” she said.

I look over at Bailey, hoping she’s too busy with the yearbooks to pay close attention. But I clock her eyeing me, waiting to see what this phone call is about. Maybe hoping, against hope, this is going to be the call that gets her back to her father.

“And you were right,” Jules says. “It does say Lady Paul on the side.”

She doesn’t say what it is, of course. She doesn’t say it’s a piggy bank that she is at our house to retrieve—Bailey’s piggy bank—though it would sound pretty innocuous if she did say that out loud.