“We all do.” His smile returned to its former brilliance. “I don’t want to chase you off.”

“You’re not. Really.” I rose and shouldered my purse.

“I feel like I’m rushing you off.”

“Not at all.” I thought about the mug sitting inside the sink. But there was no way I could just reach around him and pocket it.

Still, to leave could end my one chance to learn more about him and Clare. I could push this a little further. “Do you mind if I use your restroom before I go?”

“Sure, second door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Down the narrow hallway, I let myself into the bathroom, closed and locked the door. Towels folded neatly on a small shelf above the toilet, soap in a dispenser, and black-and-white checkered floors scrubbed so clean even the grout glistened. I moved toward the small medicine chest, hoping he kept a comb or extra toothbrush here. I’d no way of proving it was his, but I didn’t need proof for a private DNA test. I just needed a sample, and then when I had the sequencing, I’d have a chance of Richards and his forensic department comparing it to what was on file.

I set my purse beside the sink on the floor and raised the soap dispenser to my nose, inhaling the clean, neutral scent. The sense of smell was supposed to be a good conductor of memory, but there wasn’t even a vague feeling of having been here before. Maybe we’d never met here, but in the bar down the block.

I opened the medicine chest and studied the collection of bottles bearing the names of several tranquilizers. I reached for a bottle and twisted off the top and poured the blue pills into my hand. Carefully, I moved them around with my finger.

A memory flashed, but it hadn’t happened here. It was at the home where I’d grown up. Brit had dropped blue pills into a mortar and was grinding them with a pestle. “What’re you doing?” I’d asked.

Brit had turned, her expression a mixture of shock and annoyance. “Grinding up vitamins for Clare and you. You’ve both been feeling poorly, and I thought this would help.”

“I don’t like pills.”

“That’s why I’m putting these in a milkshake. Chocolate for you and strawberry for Clare.”

I hadn’t argued, but I’d poured most of my shake down the kitchen sink when Brit turned to answer a phone call. Had David ground one of these pills and put it in my drink at the bar? It made sense if I were selling him a print, I’d have met him in a public place.