Hank Milligan was much younger with smoldering good looks, a slick smile, and tanned pecs beneath his denim shirt. He wore chunky gold chains around his neck and wrists. Known as the bad boy of crime fiction for his serial killer novels, he didn’t seem like the perfect match for Essie either.

Liv also examined any men standing next to Essie in her photos, looking for a sparkle in their eyes, a knowing smile or a hand around her waist.

She noted how Anthony didn’t appear in any of the shots. If the solicitor had been close to Essie, Liv wondered why he was absent.

She picked up a photo of Hank and swept away a speck of dust off the glass with her finger. The glass shifted, moving the photo with it. It revealed another shot underneath. Wondering what it was, Liv unfastened the clips and opened the back of the frame.

The hidden photo was of a handsome blond man with longish hair and a beard. His arm was wrapped protectively around Essie’s shoulder. Tattoos peeked out from the cuffs of his shirt like blue lace. There was a large rose inked on the back of his hand. With his Viking-like looks, Liv could imagine Essie falling into his arms, and she questioned why he’d been relegated to the back of the photo frame.

She wondered if any of these men sent the big bouquets of white roses to Essie.

Finally, her eyes settled on her favorite photo of Essie at the Constellation ceremony. The author’s tangerine lips beamed as she held her crystal star aloft. She looked so vivid, strong and alive.

Liv again wondered what went so wrong after that night. Did any of Essie’s men know why she disappeared?

She sighed as she imagined herself wearing a fancy silk dress, too. She and Jake hadn’t been to a wedding reception or proper party for years. Paperpress hosted its annual staff awards to recognize the contribution of its small team of employees. She got to dress up a little and style her hair for a night, but it wasn’t as glamorous as the events Essie used to attend. Liv couldn’t help feeling a touch envious.

When she’d met Jake for the first time, twenty-three years ago, she had been wet and bedraggled. Rain bounced off the pavements on the dark gloomy evening.

The Picturehouse was a local family-run cinema. 84 Charing Cross Road was a film Liv wanted to see, about an American lady heading to London to visit a bookshop specializing in out-of-print books.

The cinema was quiet, and she meandered around the foyer looking at the film posters alongside one other person, a man with curly hair. They approached the popcorn stand at the same time and there was only enough left for one person.

“You take it.” He paid and handed the popcorn tub to her.

“No, it’s yours.”