“That’s a misunderstanding between my wife and me,” I said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on with Blake. Or this Kyle Dornan guy. It really doesn’t have anything to do with Jennifer. I never wrote back to her.”

Rountree crossed her arms and considered me like I was a painting on a museum wall. With the sun in my face and with the early hour and the stress of all the craziness, I probably looked like something surrealist or cubist, a distortion of a human figure. “What about Blake and Samantha? Does what happens between them remain private? How was their relationship? Any insights you have might help matters.”

I thought back to Rountree’s arrival at the house that morning. She said the police hadn’t been able to find either Blake or Samantha.

“She called me,” I said. “Samantha.”

“She did. When?”

“When I was inside there with Kyle. About fifteen minutes ago. She called me, wondering if I knew where Blake was. And I told her I didn’t. But weren’t you looking for her earlier?”

“Where was she? Did she say?”

“She said she’d just got to work. You know she teaches at Cherry Lane Elementary, right? Kindergarten.”

Rountree looked surprised. “She said she was at the school?”

“Yes. She said she went in because she wanted her life to be normal, to stick to her normal routine.”

“That’s odd,” Rountree said. “We went by there looking for her an hour ago, and her principal told us she hadn’t arrived, that she was running late. I guess I would think it odd for a woman to be at work at all the day before her wedding. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Francis?”

“Yes, I guess it is. I’ve known people who worked right up until their weddings so they could save as much vacation time as possible for the honeymoon. Sam’s a teacher. Maybe she can’t miss too much.”

“Did Samantha say anything else?” Rountree asked.

“She said she couldn’t find Blake, and she was worried about him. I’m afraid I couldn’t help much with that.”

The two uniformed cops came out the back door and stood off to the side, waiting to make their reports to Rountree. She went over, and I heard them tell her they’d found nothing out of the ordinary inside. No signs of robbery. No sign of injury. Just a broken liquor bottle in the foyer and two empty glasses on the counter.

“That was Kyle,” I said. “His method of persuasion.”

Rountree looked over at me and then back at them. She appeared to be processing their reports, letting her eyes move away from the cops and over to the house.

She pointed at me. “Keep an eye on him for a minute,” she said. “I’m going to take a look inside.”

“Yes, Detective.”