On November 4, I wake in the upstairs bedroom in Tally’s farmhouse, the soft knitted blanket from her own alpacas resting lightly on my chest, Cricket at my feet like a warm stone. The side of her neck is still bandaged from where Caleb stabbed her. Initially the veterinary surgeon thought her trachea or esophagus might be damaged, but the injury had only reached soft tissue. The doctor had sedated her before cleaning the wound, draining the fluid and then closing her up with staples. She’d recovered in the Mendocino Animal Hospital for the first few days before coming to stay with me at Tally’s. It was a temporary move, the first place I thought of in the aftermath of Caleb’s death, since Will didn’t have room for me.

As I push back the blankets, Cricket stirs and gives me a disgruntled look before yawning and going back to sleep. I throw on some warm clothes from my duffel in the corner and head downstairs smelling coffee and French toast.

It’s Sam cooking, I notice. Tally is at the kitchen table reading the newspaper as I come up. She lays the paper down quickly. “How’d you sleep, Anna?”

“Not great, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, dear. Did Cricket keep you up?”

“No, she’s a perfect patient. I just had weird dreams. I have them a lot. It’s nothing.”

Sam wheels up behind me and puts a plate down that smells like heaven. Maple syrup and melting butter. Homemade bread.

“You know I’m never going to leave if you keep feeding me this way,” I say gratefully.

“No problem,” he answers with a wink. “I’ll catch you two later. Heading into the studio now.”

When he’s gone, I turn to Tally. “So, what’s in the paper you don’t want me to see?”

“Oh,” she sighs. “Now stop.” She’s in a dark green terry-cloth bathrobe and fusses with the sleeves. “It’s just a story about Polly Klaas. I thought maybe you could rest longer before getting upset again.”

“Why would I be upset?”

“Apparently the town is trying to pass a proposal to hire a missing-child expert, but the Petaluma police are set on rejecting it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“They say it would disrupt continuity or something.” She pushes the paper my way, relenting. “That they’re close to breaking the case.”

I scan the page to see a quote from Sergeant Barresi about having plenty of resources and manpower without outsiders, then another from Marc Klaas about how frustrated he is that nothing significant in Polly’s case has broken in more than a month.

“Maybe it’s time for me to go to Petaluma,” I say after a moment. “I’m not exactly sure how I can help, but I have nothing but time on my hands here. Cameron’s home now. She’s doing well.”