“Giovanni and I went to the cabin, and I found a small piece of bone. The coroner has confirmed it’s human. I think there’s a good chance this bone came from the same place we found the other one. The chief of police is trying to get a warrant to dig up the place. I’ll be hearing from him soon.”
Silence drifted through the room, warm but tense. It was as we were staring at the same puzzle, only now realizing which pieces fit and which didn’t yet.
But it was coming together.
“I mean, it would be great to solve Anne’s murder too, I guess,” he said, handing me the bag. “I just wish it could have been solved without Audrey losing her life.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Outside, the wind brushed against the windows, a soft hiss through the eaves as my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
It was a text message from Foley.
Warrant approved.
We’re digging at the cabin in the morning.
Be ready.
I looked up at Giovanni, who’d just entered the room.
Then at Logan.
And at the firelight flickering across the walls.
Tomorrow, I had the feeling the case was going to break open, in one way or another.
25
I drove to the Lamberts’ house midmorning, the clouds hanging low over Cambria like they couldn’t decide whether to break or linger. As I was leaving, Logan was enjoying one of Giovanni’s big breakfasts, and the two were talking about hockey, a passion it was clear they both shared. At one point, Logan even managed a slight laugh. I hadn’t told Logan where I was going when I slipped out, deciding it would be better to tell him after the fact.
I parked at the curb and sat a moment before getting out, thinking about the reception I was about to receive. Part of me thought about driving away and letting Logan reach out to his parents again when he was ready. The other part knew how much they must be worrying about their son. Stopping by seemed like the right thing to do.
Tilly opened the door as soon as I knocked, her posture rigid, shoulders square like she’d been bracing for impact.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Her eyes flicked past me, scanning the yard, the street, my car.
“I’m here to talk to you about your son,” I said.
“We’ve said all we’re going to say to you about him.”
“Oh, no. It’s not that. I wanted you to know that he’s safe.”
She crossed her arms, huffing, “And how would you know?”
“It’s complicated, but I’m sure you’ve been worried, and I wanted to put you at ease. Please, let me explain.”
She hesitated, then stepped back. “Fine. Say what you came to say.”
I felt it again, the same tight, coiled energy she carried the last time I was there. Fear disguised as control.
“I found Logan yesterday,” I said.
“How?”
I’m a damn good private investigator, that’s how.
