She made a big show of acting disgusted as her son slouched away.

“Three years at Berkeley, and all he does is lay out. My fault, I guess. No man around to set an example.”

Her eyes lingered on Pike a beat too long, then she sighed as if realizing she’d just had another bad idea.

“It’s a single-mom thing.”

She put out her hand.

“I’m Lily Palmer. Who are you?”

“Pike.”

“Well, Pike, you want me to give them a message when I see them?”

“Tell them to call. They have the number.”

Pike returned to his Jeep, but didn’t start the engine. Dru and Wilson might very well be leaving, but Pike felt they would not have had time to leave yet. They would have to make arrangements, pack, and do all the things people do to prepare for a trip. Pike told himself they were doing those things now, which is why they weren’t home, so he decided to wait.

A few minutes later, Pike called Dru again, then the number Betsy Harmon gave him for Wilson. Both calls went immediately to voice mail as they had every time before, which implied their phones were turned off or being used. Pike didn’t like it. The odds both of them were talking on their phones at the same time were slim, and no one turned off their phones when they were getting ready for a trip.

Pike climbed out of the Jeep and returned to the gate. He checked to make sure Lily’s son wasn’t watching, then hoisted himself over the gate into a tiny courtyard. The front door was locked, and showed no sign of forced entry.

Pike moved along the side of the house, looking into each window he passed, and checking for signs of tampering. The first room appeared to be a guest bedroom, and the next was the kitchen. The bedroom appeared undisturbed, but Pike’s view was limited. He saw dirty dishes, three empty beer bottles, and a cutting board on the kitchen counter. Pike told himself the dishes indicated Wilson and Dru planned to return home, but the goat heads and flies hung over him like battlefield smoke.

After checking the last window on the far side of the house, he returned to the backyard. It was small, with a low wood fence bordering the sidewalk that ran along the canal. A latched gate opened to the sidewalk, and a blue fiberglass kayak hung on a small wooden dock across from the gate. Pike studied the houses lining the bank. Even with all the walls and gates, entering the properties would be easy from the water.

Pike checked his watch. Forty-five minutes had passed since he decided to wait, but now the passing time didn’t feel like waiting. It felt more like he was allowing something precious to slip away.