‘Does that mean you also don’t know which gym Beau and your husband use to work out?’ Alyssa asked because, as of last night, Hal still hadn’t found any links regarding a possible financial connection between the families.

Mrs. Cambridge’s face registered surprise and though she still kept her eyes carefully averted, she said, ‘They have a personal gym on the patio in the back.’

The gym was another brick wall. None of the families attended the same church services as they all belonged to different religious organizations. None of them utilized the same bank or served on the same boards. And now none of the families worked out at the same place.

Alyssa had known the financial link was tenuous, but she’d had to follow the thread to the end to be certain. Which led her back to Meghan Jessup. If she could locate the mysterious senior Meghan had been seeing, whether it was Beau or someone else, they might find the one piece of the puzzle that tied all these girls together.

Upstairs, Isaac stirred as he got ready for his Memorial Day weekend with his best friend’s family, and Alyssa decided that she’d make the most of the time she had with him and push the cases to the back of her mind, concentrating instead on how this getaway would be a healing steppingstone for Isaac. Even though he’d still be surrounded by woods, Red River was three hours north from the Sandias where he’d been held captive in April.

Isaac’s bedroom door opened and slammed loudly. ‘Sorry. Accident,’ he shouted as he came bouncing down the stairs.

In the kitchen, the wide grin and the one-armed hug he bestowed on her after he dropped his knapsack on the floor in the corner wiped out any further reservations she had about him leaving too soon after all he’d been through. But Holly was right: if they hovered, if they treated him like he’d never be okay, his healing process would take even longer.

He popped in two strawberry Pop-Tarts, lobbing the wrapper into the trash can, whooping out, ‘Slam dunk,’ as it bounced off the rim and into the bag. Humming off-key, he moved to the refrigerator and took out the milk, uncapping it and drinking straight from the jug.

‘Isaac Wyatt! You aren’t a caveman – yet. Get a cup, for God’s sake.’

With a milk mustache still rimming his lips, he opened the cupboard and grabbed a glass, filled it to the brim, and then chugged it down before pouring himself another. As he moved about the kitchen, he rambled on about hanging out, fishing, and hiking. ‘But s’mores, Mom. S’mores. Mrs. L always brings those campfire marshmallows, and if heaven has a taste, that’s it right there.’

Alyssa erupted in laughter, a lightness in her chest, as she witnessed the pure joy that lit up her son’s face when talking about the popular sugary campfire treat. ‘Try to save some for the rest of the family, if you can.’