Somehow, brain rot seemed a minor inconvenience compared to what they were facing this morning—the second day without Sandra. The second day without Ree’s mom, and his wife, a woman who thirty-six hours ago had intentionally purged her own Internet account. A woman who had possibly left them.

Phone rang again. This time, Ree turned to stare at him. Her gaze was slightly accusing. Like, as the adult, he should know better.

So he finally slung himself off the sofa and crossed to the phone.

It was Sergeant Warren, of course. “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”

“Not really,” he replied.

“I trust you had a productive night at work.”

“Did what I had to do.” He shrugged.

“How is your daughter this morning?”

“Have you found my wife, Sergeant?”

“Well, no—”

“Then let’s cut to the chase.”

He heard her take a deep breath. “Well, as it has been more than twenty-four hours, you should know that your wife’s status has been upgraded to an official missing person.”

“How lucky for her,” he murmured.

“In a way, it is. Now we can open an active case file, and bring more resources to bear. Including which, we will be holding a press conference at nine A.M. to announce your wife’s disappearance.”

He stiffened. Felt her words hit him between the eyes, a sharp, stinging blow. He opened his mouth to protest, then caught himself. He clutched the bridge of his nose and pretended the stinging in his eyes was something other than tears. “All right,” he said quietly. He needed to start making phone calls, he realized. Get a lawyer. Start planning for Ree. He tucked the cordless phone more tightly between his shoulder and ear and headed into the kitchen, away from his child’s acute hearing.

He opened the refrigerator door, found himself staring at Sandra’s precious Dr Pepper, and closed the door again.

“Of course,” Sergeant Warren was saying, “it would be excellent if you were available to make your own appeal to the public. Personalize the case and all that. We could hold the conference in your front yard. You and Ree could both be present,” she concluded pleasantly.

“No thank you.”

“No thank you?” She sounded stunned, but they both knew she was faking it.

“My primary concern is for my daughter. I don’t think involving her in a media circus is to her benefit. I also think having reporters traipse across our yard and intrude in our private lives would be very traumatizing for her. Therefore, I think it’s best if I stay home, preparing her for what will come next.”

“And what do you think will come next?” Sergeant Warren asked, clearly baiting him.