“Where are you? Can we talk in person?”

“I’m on . . .”

I heard a rushing of wind, air through an open car window. Then the clicking of a turn signal.

“I just turned onto Bricker from Montero. You know where that is, right?”

“I’m right there. You know where that Chinese restaurant is? The one with the fortune cookie on the sign?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’m in the lot there. Turn in, and you’ll find me.”

“Okay, okay. That’s good. We can talk, Ryan. We can make a plan for finding Blake.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

While I waited for her to arrive, I called Amanda again. The call went right to voice mail. So I sent her a text.

Talking to Sam. Will call soon.

Soon enough, Sam pulled in and parked next to me. She climbed out of her car, her hair whipping a little in the wind and covering her face, and she slid into the passenger seat of mine. She let out a long, breathy sigh as she settled in and pushed her hair off her face, which looked tired and pale, as though she hadn’t slept well. She wore a maroon sweater and formfitting jeans. I checked her hand and still didn’t see an engagement ring.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem a little frazzled.”

“I am. There’s too much going on, Ryan.” She sighed again, adjusting herself in the seat. She flipped down the sun visor and checked her hair in the mirror on the reverse side. “I’m supposed to talk to the caterer and the florist today. About tomorrow, you know. But is it even worth it?” She snapped the visor back into its normal place. “I’m on the ledge here, Ryan. Can you talk me down from it?”

It sounded like an increasingly impossible task. She was planning on getting married in just over twenty-four hours, and her fiancé was nowhere to be found. And he was a suspect in the murder of a woman he’d recently been dating. After I talked her off the ledge, I could maybe part the Red Sea for good measure.

She lifted her hand to her mouth and chewed on a loose piece of skin. “Shit.” She pulled the hand away. “I can’t mess up my hands before the wedding. They’re going to take a picture of the rings, which we don’t even have yet. We were supposed to pick them up today. They take those pictures up close. And I need to get a manicure. I’ve already got these ragged-looking nails. I’ve been chewing them again. Ugh.”

“The police do want to talk to you,” I said. “I think you should talk to them. Tell them whatever they want to know.”

“I talked to them already. Last night. They keep asking me the same questions over and over, and I don’t know what else I can say.”