“That’s her. Never heard her play myself, but she’s performed at Lincoln Center and Carnegie. She’s a knockout in the photo, lovely warm eyes, maybe a bit on the shy side? People like her, praise her. Who knows why she’s out of Harrington’s life now, but it’d be interesting to see what she’d have to say about him. So give her a call, set up an interview. Kali checked. She’s at home in Boston.

“I’m out of time, gotta go, the FBI is calling back.” He laughed. “I knew they’d jump at the Agent Sherlock fluff piece I dangled in front of their noses. Be here by one o’clock.”

“FBI? Agent Sherlock? What piece?” But Milo was gone.

Mia was reading about Harrington’s years at Bennington Prep when her cell buzzed again, and she jumped. Milo again? More dirt to dish about the Boston players? But then she smiled. It was Gail Ricci, one of her friends from Godwyn, calling her from Rome, where she’d lived for the past six years with her Italian husband, Francesco Ricci, and her daughter, Lucia. Gail had told Mia she’d be grateful to her parents forever for giving her the Italian trip for her graduation present. She and Mia still kept in touch, with emails and an occasional phone call.

“Gail! Goodness, what a treat. What’s going on? Everything’s good, right?”

Gail laughed. “Everything is good in Ricci-land. Mia, I know it’s your workday, but I found something and I need to talk to you. Do you have time?”

“Sure, for you I’ve always got time.”

“Actually, Lucia was playing in my dresser drawer and she found my ancient Apple 5 cell phone, the one I had at Godwyn. Long story short, I was looking through the gazillion stored photos on it and there are a couple of shots from that frat rave on the night Serena disappeared. I actually forgot I took them, but remember, we were all drunk as skunks. The photos aren’t great, there’s some motion, some blurriness, but I want you to see them. Emailing now.”

The rave? The night Serena disappeared? Mia froze, couldn’t breathe. She whispered, “Do you see her, Gail? Do you see who took her?”

“I don’t know, but maybe you can see something.”

Mia brought up the photos. The first one showed a roomful of college kids, laughing, talking, dancing, most of them drinking, even on the dance floor. She made herself out, standing beside—yes, it was Norton Canberry, now a professor at MIT. He was probably trying to explain vector analysis or some such thing to her and she was laughing her head off.

“The second photo,” Gail said, “Serena’s photo—it’s blurry because I probably just raised my cell and snapped it.”