A friendly, round-faced man named Graham had been working here for as long as Jeremiah could remember. He’d always appeared to be in his mid-fifties. Still did.
“Hello, Mr. Camden.” Graham greeted Jeremiah with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have reason to think someone has been on my boat. Both before I left on my trip back in September and again more recently. Do you have any video cameras that record activity on the harbor?”
His face fell. “I’m sorry, but no. It was the best I could do to persuade the owner to take our operation online.” He patted his desktop monitor. “This is the most high-tech thing we have on the premises.”
Disappointment tasted bitter in Jeremiah’s mouth. “If you see anyone around my boat, will you record them or take photos? Then contact me?”
“Absolutely.”
Outside the office, he checked his phone, then placed a call to Kimley. “I saw that I missed a call from you,” Jeremiah said when the older man answered.
“Hi, Jeremiah. Yes. I was calling to let you know that I’ve determined the whereabouts of Marisol Soto.”
“Wendell,” Remy said warmly when she picked up his call while eating a microwaved lunch.
“Remy!”
It felt good to hear her friend’s voice. So much so, tears pricked her eyes. She was unusually emotional these days. It was as if her torso was filled with a ball of seething orange feelings. The smallest things—a text message from her mom, a hug shared by two characters in her current novel, the sight of Leigh’s sturdy face—could cause her throat to tighten. “How are you?”
“Very well.”
“Are you following our organizational system?”
“To the letter!”
“The house is clean?”
“As a whistle. Listen, I have news.”
“Oh?”
“A man who . . . Goodness. This is hard to believe.”
“Take your time.”
He paused and she imagined him marshalling his excitement to gather himself. “A man,” he continued, “who works at the Serene Hollow Assisted Living Community in Monroe called me. He said that he came across the digital notice you created, the one asking for information on Marisol’s whereabouts. Remy, he told me that my Marisol lives at Serene Hollow.”
That was amazing and hopeful and . . . weird. An employee from an assisted living community gave Wendell details about a resident? In this day and age of strict privacy? “Really?”
“Yes! Marisol lives just forty-five minutes away from me. Her married name is Marisol Gordon. She’s still alive.”
“Incredible.” Especially so seeing as how Remy had come to the conclusion that she was the world’s worst detective after having no success helping Wendell find Marisol and no success helping Jeremiah learn his identity—
Shoot. She’d thought his name, which reminded her that she loved his name. Loved the firmJsound followed by those round vowel syllables.Jeremiah.
“The man who called me,” Wendell was saying, “is a good Samaritan. Or maybe I should call him a Cupid.”
“Based on what happened the last time we tried to meet Marisol, I think it would be best to call and speak with this woman. That way, you can determine whether she really is the Marisol you remember.”
“The Cupid told me she’s eighty-two and lived in Belfast for a time, just likemyMarisol. This is the right one, Remy. And I don’t want to call her. I want to see her, right now, with my own eyes.”
“I understand, but—”
“I’m all worked up,” Wendell confessed. “I’ve thought about Marisol for so long. We’ll go see her as soon as you can get here.”
“Me?”
