“Can you try it?” she asked. “Like you said, maybe she’s tied up with the baby. At least if they answer, they can tell you where she is. There. Or on her way back here.”

I felt no desire to argue. The shaky feeling in my hands that started when I opened the door to Rountree grew in intensity, only its source became worry and concern over Amanda. And Henry. What did Rountree know? Why was she so adamant about tracking Amanda down?

“Can you just tell me why you need to know all this?” I asked.

“Like I said—loose ends.”

“How did Amanda become a loose end? She doesn’t know about any of this.”

“Make that call, please.”

So I did. The phone rang for a while, so I turned to Rountree and asked, “Did you look into Dawn Steiner? She could be involved in this too.”

“She’s part of this investigation.”

Before she said more, Karen picked up, her cheerful hello likely loud enough for Rountree to hear.

“Hi, Karen. Look, is Amanda there? Or has she left yet?”

“Amanda?” She repeated the name like she’d never heard it before.

“Yes, is she there? Or is she heading back here?”

“Well, I must have my wires crossed. Or something. Amanda called me about fifteen minutes ago. She said she had something to do, and it might take all afternoon. Ryan, she told me you were going to come over and get Henry and that I shouldn’t call her because she’d be busy.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY

When I hung up with Karen, I made a special point of not looking at Rountree. I knew she knew I’d learned Amanda wasn’t there, and I sensed she was ready to pounce with more questions. So I acted like she wasn’t in the room and dialed Amanda’s number again.

And again, it rang and rang.

I tried two more times with the same result.

“What about Dawn Steiner?” I asked. “Is she here in town?”

“We’re working on accounting for her whereabouts. We have a lot of irons in the fire. But that’s not your concern right now. Let me do my job.”

“I get that. But we know the answer to the big question. It was Aaron who killed Jennifer. He was with her. He has a record.”

I stared at the phone. A useless instrument.

“Mr. Francis?” Rountree said.

“Hold on.”

I texted Amanda, asking her to call me. Then I sent another text, telling her she really needed to call me because the police were in the living room looking for her.

“Mr. Francis? I assume you don’t know where your wife is right now.”

I let my arms drop limply at my sides. The wind disappeared from my sails. “No, I don’t. She’s supposed to be . . .”