I say goodbye and turn to Bailey. “That was Jules,” I say. “I’m having her look into something at the house.”

She nods. She doesn’t ask if I have anything to report on her father. She knows I’d tell her if I did.

“Any progress?” I say.

“I’m on H,” she says. “No hits yet.”

“H is progress.”

“Yeah. Unless he’s not on the list.”

My phone rings again. I think it’s going to be Jules calling back, but the number is one I don’t recognize—one with a 512 area code. Texas.

“Who’s that?” she says.

I shake my head that I don’t know. Then I accept the call. The woman on the other end of the line is already talking to me. She is midway through a sentence that, apparently, she thought I was there to hear.

“Scrimmages,” she says. “We should have accounted for them too. The scrimmages.”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Elenor McGovern,” she says. “From the Episcopal church. And I think I may have found an answer for you about the wedding your stepdaughter attended. Sophie, one of our longtime parishioners, has a son who plays football for UT-Austin. She never misses a game. She was in here earlier, helping with the new member breakfast, and it occurred to me she might be the person to ask if I’d missed something. And she said that during the summer, the Longhorns have a series of intrasquad scrimmages.”

My breath catches in my throat. “And they’re held in the stadium?” I say. “Just like the regular season games?”

“Just like the regular season games. Usually with a fairly packed crowd. People go as if it’s an actual game,” she says. “I’m not much of a football fan so that didn’t occur to me, at first.”

“It occurred to you to ask her, that’s pretty great,” I say.

“Well, maybe. And this part certainly is. I did a cross-check for you on the dates of the scrimmages during the time we were open. We had one wedding that lines up with the final scrimmage of the 2008 season. One wedding that your stepdaughter might have been at. Do you have a pen? You should write this down.”

Elenor is proud of herself, and she should be. She may have found a link to Owen—to what Owen had been doing in Austin that weekend, so long after graduation. And to why Bailey was with him.

“I’m writing it down,” I say.

“It was the Reyes and Smith wedding,” she says. “I have all the information on the wedding here. The ceremony took place at noon. And the reception was held off-site. It doesn’t specify where.”

“Elenor, this is amazing. I don’t even know how to thank you for this.”

“You’re so welcome,” she says.