I peer closer. It’s a smile I haven’t seen. Not that I’ve seen her smile much. Maybe she does more of that in her other life. I feel that thought like a physical thing. A tightening of my chest. She’s standing between Georgie and her friend, Solana. They must be at some kind of party from their dress and Mercedes, for as gorgeous as she looks, is definitely more than a little tipsy. The three of them have their arms around each other and Solana is bent double laughing as Georgie kisses Mercedes’s cheek, he, too, laughing too hard at something.

“All proceeds from purchases this week will go toward finding her,” he says somberly. He picks up the framed photo and dusts something off it, then sets it down and looks at me. “Our friend in the middle is missing. Haven’t seen or heard from her in two months.”

“Is it possible she doesn’t want to be seen or heard from?”

“No, it’s not.” He looks at her photo when he continues. “I think someone hurt our beautiful, sweet girl.”

His words repeat in my head. Someone hurt our beautiful, sweet girl.

“It’s the only explanation,” he continues. “And every time we try to put up an ad or file a missing person’s report, poof, it disappears. Like fucking voodoo.”

I clear my throat.

“Someone powerful doesn’t want her found. That’s what I think. But we’re holding a candlelight vigil this weekend. And every news channel will stream it live. Then let’s see the bastards try to stop us.”

“A candlelight vigil?”

“You should come.” He looks me over again. “Although I’m not sure you’re the type.”

“What type is that?”

“Never mind. Tell me the occasion and I’ll make you a gorgeous bouquet.”

“What kind of flowers does she like?”

“Who?”

“Mercedes.”

He pauses and I realize my mistake. His gaze sharpens on me. He’s trying to think back if he said her name.

“Roses. In every color but red.”

“Hm. Then I’ll take them.”

“Them?”

“All the roses you have in every color but red.”

“That’s a lot of roses.”

I take the black American Express out of my wallet. “Good.”

He looks suspiciously at me but punches a number into the register. I’m sure he’s marking up his roses but I don’t care. I swipe the Amex and sign my name, then take a different card out of my wallet.

“You’ll deliver them personally to this address tomorrow night. You and your friend, Solana Lavigne.”

He reads my name on the card, my position, then meets my gaze. His is harder this time. Nothing friendly left in it.