“Okay.” McAvoy scribbled something down. “Amelia’s phone is still off, but we’ll continue to ping it every forty-five minutes.” Whitney’s body swayed back and forth, like a balloon in the grip of a toddler. Any minute the child would let go and she’d leave earth completely. “Can you access her social media accounts for us, please?”

Nodding, Whitney made her way to the computer. She heard a noise outside, and her head turned. She wondered again about what Sandavol was up to. Time was blurred at the edges. Gray and hazy, slow-moving.

Numb, Whitney wiggled the mouse back and forth until her computer came to life. “I don’t know any of Amelia’s passwords, but I can go into her Facebook and IG account from mine.”

“Does Amelia have her own computer?” McAvoy asked.

“Yeah. A laptop. But it’s not here. She must’ve taken it with her to Lauren’s.”

“Do you mind if we take a look around her room?” McAvoy asked.

Whitney nodded. Then wordlessly guided them down the hallway. Amelia’s room looked exactly like she’d left it. Not quite dirty, not quite clean. As McAvoy and Sandavol brushed past her, crowding the small space, Whitney leaned against the doorframe. There was a patch of worn carpet in the center of the room. She pictured Amelia dancing there, arms high above her head, hips swaying, head upturned, a smile on her lips.

On her nightstand sat a picture of the three of them—she, Dan and Amelia—back when Amelia was a toddler. Whitney moved toward it and picked it up. She’d given it to Amelia right after she and Dan split. It had always been one of Amelia’s favorite pictures of them, and she thought it would give her comfort. It must have because she’d kept it displayed ever since. Whitney took in Amelia’s big smile, mouth open around a giggle. Dan had his arm around Amelia as she nestled in his lap. Whitney leaned into Dan, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Behind them was a stark white backdrop, bringing out the brightness of their matching blue sweaters. Blue. Dan’s favorite color.

A fact he had shared with her in one of their first conversations.

“Sorry,” he said, appearing flustered as he ran a hand over his hair. “I just can’t stop staring at your eyes. They remind me of the blue-blue water.”

Up until that moment, he’d always seemed so scholarly. Articulate. And I’d never known him to stutter. “The what?”

He smiled. “When I was a kid, my parents took me to Universal Studios and we watched this one show that took place on a stage in front of all this water. And the water was this bright blue, almost turquoise color. Unlike any natural color I’d seen before. So the only way I could think of to describe it was by calling it blue-blue water.”