Vicki must have noticed too, because she spoke up, which was unusual when they were in a professional capacity. “I can’t stress enough”—Vicki leaned forward, her hand out, palm upward—“how vital it is that we reach Sarah before Lieutenant Hawkins does. He is a dangerous predator on the hunt. We believe she is in extreme danger. Indeed, her very life could be at stake.”

The art gallery owner’s sharp intake of breath was audible.

“So, if something springs to mind . . .” Vicki gentled her voice. “A coincidence or additional information, please don’t hesitate to text, email, or call. Anything that you can think of that might be helpful in our search.”

The gallery owner nodded. She seemed pale as she carefully placed the business card Phillip handed her into the top right-hand desk drawer.

*   *   *

Vicki had been silent since they’d left the Art Expressions Gallery. Come to think of it, she hadn’t spoken much that morning either, and when she had, her responses had been rather sharp. Clipped. Perhaps she was on her monthly. In a day or two, the grumpiness would pass.

Phillip took a deep breath of the brisk ocean air. He had tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. What a pleasure it was to be out in public as if they were a couple, as if she were his wife. He enjoyed the warmth and vitality of her body nestled next to his. Phillip patted her hand with his free one. The texture of her skin had changed over the decades. The veins in her hand were more prominent now. A multitude of minuscule lines rippled outward as he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. Vicki’s hand twitched. Reminded him of a horse attempting to rid itself of a pesky black fly. He ceased the movement, suppressing a sigh as he turned his gaze to the ocean and the multitude of small islands beyond. Their relationship had changed in the last few years. She was more impatient. Found him clingy. Odd that. The more she pulled away, the more deeply and desperately he loved her.

“She was lying.” Vicki sounded almost angry. She was such an emotional creature, so full of fire and passion, unlike his wife, who was placid as a cow in the field chewing her cud. “Sarah Rainsford was here. One hundred percent. You told me she was dead.”

“No. I remember quite clearly. I said I thought she was dead. After all, no one had heard hide nor hair from her. She hadn’t touched a cent of her money.”

“Well, clearly she’s alive.”

Phillip nodded. Maybe Sarah was. Maybe she wasn’t. It wasn’t worth getting in an argument over.

“What next?”