And that’s when it clicked. She finally looked up from her computer monitor enough to connect the dots. Her eyebrows quirked up over the rims of her glasses as she took in his lopsided haircut, the head stitches, and the claw marks still visible beneath his beard.

He wasn’t surprised. Everyone in town knew he was the last person to have seen Megan Travers in Riggs Crossing before she went missing, and he assumed all of the employees at Valley General had known he’d been a patient there recently as well.

“Okay, Mr. Cahill,” she said a little more coolly, her smile tighter. “Let’s start with his name.”

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 31

The old nun who introduced herself as Sister Rosemarie was as much a sentry as a principal, Rivers thought when she introduced herself at St. Ignatius Elementary School in Marysville. Her expression was as severe as the coming storm. In a long navy skirt, matching cardigan over a white blouse, and sensible boots, she studied their IDs and badges with suspicious, icy eyes, then peered at each of them over the tops of half-glasses perched on a hawkish nose and held in place by a beaded chain that looped around her neck.

“Ms. Korpi is expecting you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“All right then. I’ll take you to her room. This way.” The end of a rosary dangled from one of the pockets in her voluminous skirt as she led them briskly past a statue of the saint for whom the school was named and then headed up a short staircase and down a corridor, where their footsteps echoed on the worn floor.

She paused by the open door to room 8. “In here,” she said and led them inside a cluttered room filled with tiny desks, science projects, and artwork. “Ms. Korpi?”

A woman of about thirty was standing between a cluttered desk and the whiteboard stretching across the front wall. Bible verses were scripted on all the walls, jingle bells were hanging in strips from the ceiling and artwork was everywhere. In gray slacks and a pink sweater, she was holding a cell phone to one ear and looked up quickly as they entered, holding up a finger. “Oh, geez,” she said into the phone. “What is it with him? . . . But he’s okay? . . . When will he get there?” She glanced up at the clock as Rivers surveyed the room. Windows ran along one side, each decorated with a cut-out angel and fake snow. A terrarium was positioned on the back wall near a sink, and a small Christmas tree decorated with paper ornaments listed near a row of hooks near the door.

Jennifer was ending her call. “Sure. I’ve got a few things to take care of and then, yeah, I’ll be there . . . okay. Sure . . . I’ll call . . . Thanks, Tabby, I’ll talk to you later.” Then she disconnected and stuffed the phone into the pocket of her slacks. “I’m sorry.”