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“Preposterous, right?”

“No,” Finn said. “I mean this is a joke. He thinks he’s being funny. And he’s thumbing his nose at the entire writing establishment.”

“Yes. A private joke, sure. But I do think he’s hoping no one’s really going to question his CV.”

“How likely is that?”

“Beginning writers do tend to stuff a lot of meaningless credentials into their bios.”

“This isn’t a list of obscure Midwestern lit mag awards. This is a finalist for the 2021 New Veritas Prize for Unclassifiable Literature .”

I laughed out loud, surprising myself. Finn smiled at me.

“You have to give him credit for a sense of humor,” I said. “But I also think some of that is aimed at me. A List of Things We Forgot to Bury ? Everything True Is Dangerous ?”

Finn grunted. “What else did you find out about this clown?”

“Nothing. I’d just started looking when you came in. I slept most of the morning and then went through my email.”

“Good. You needed the sleep. How’s your head?”

“It’s okay.” I was still coming out of the postdrome. That “migraine hangover” phase was a lot of why I’d been feeling low and anxious and weepy that morning. Well, some of it, anyway. My head gave the occasional twinge. My shoulders, neck, and abdominals were sore, but the worst of it was past.

Finn rose, moving to the room phone. “You feel like breakfast? I’m starving. I’ve had too much coffee on an empty stomach.”

I still wasn’t hungry, but I said, “Sure.”

“Cereal, fruit, scrambled eggs?”

That was my usual breakfast, and I nodded.

Finn placed the call to room service. When he returned to the sofa, I said, “I ran into Hayes Hartman in the elevator. He said I trashed his book?”

Finn’s brows drew together. “When were you in the elevator?”

“Right after you left to check out the rental car’s tire. I’d forgotten I was supposed to take Grace Hollister to breakfast. Anyway, she had to cancel, and on the way back I ran into Hayes.”

“I see. Well, that’s kind of bullshit on Hayes’s part. He incorporated your critiques into his rewrite. And mine as well. And pretty much everyone who gave him feedback. So, I’m not sure why he’s singling you out.”

“I think he’s got a thing for you.”

Finn raised a shoulder in dismissal. “To tell the truth, I think he had a thing for you .” There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“Me?”

“I think so. He had a little bit of an editor crush. I have a feeling he believed you two would be instantly simpatico, you’d recognize his brilliance, offer him a life-changing contract, and become his mentor.”

“Oh. Ouch.”

Finn smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. I looked over those edits.

You were your usual tactful self. He was just hoping for something you weren’t able to give him.

” He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa and I moved closer and rested my head on his shoulder.

He kissed the side of my head absently. “I know you’ve got the Backstory interview at two. What do you have after that?”

“Coffee with Mindy Newburgh at four. Dinner with Adrien English at seven.”

“Why don’t you cancel Mindy. I think we should drive into Steeple Hill.”

I sat up straight. “ Why ?”

“I think we should talk to Milo’s family. See if Milo eventually turned up. I want to know how much, if anything they know about what happened.”

If he knew Milo’s family still lived in Steeple Hill, he’d already started investigating. As much as I wanted—needed—his help, I felt a surge of fear. There was no putting this genie back in the bottle. I knew that. But I couldn’t help wishing I could put a pillow over the genie’s face.

Finn was still talking. “In this case, it makes the most sense for you to take point. You’re an old friend passing through town. You’re just checking in. It’s a natural thing to do. It signals concern, not guilt, and gives you plausible deniability.”

“Yes. All right.” I forced myself to relax. “I can do that.”

Finn’s gaze met mine. “But your active involvement in the investigation will end there. Ask the questions anyone would ask. Stick to the script.”

I didn’t point out that he hadn’t given me a script.

Finn glanced automatically at my open laptop. “Don’t start playing detective. Don’t start poking around. You let me handle the rest.”

“Which will entail what?”

“We don’t want a formal investigation. Not until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.

We’ve got to be strategic and careful and very thorough.

I’ll start with looking into missing persons databases, search for old school records, driver’s license activity, financial traces, etc.

I’ll check for any legal name changes that might suggest Milo reinvented himself.

And I’ll look into the actions of Milo’s family following Milo’s disappearance. ”

“They reported him missing.”

“Well, they would, right? They’d do that whether they helped him disappear or not.”

Before I could reply, someone knocked heavily on the door.

“Room service!”

Finn squeezed my shoulder briefly, rose, went to the door. He glanced out and opened the door. The uniformed server wheeled in the cart, Finn thanked him, tipped him, and closed the door behind him.

“You want to eat on the balcony or is the light too bright for you?”

“I’ll wear sunglasses. I can use the fresh air.”

I went to get my sunglasses while Finn rolled the cart to the glass doors and moved the covered dishes to the small iron table. The light was dazzling, but the cold ocean breeze felt good.

I was not hungry, but it was essential to eat.

I took a few sips of chamomile tea, started with the scrambled eggs, eating slowly.

Finn was having pancakes, as usual. He insisted he only indulged in pancakes at conferences and book events, but since a good part of his life was spent at conferences and book events, it seemed to me pancakes were a major part of his diet.

I said, as if our conversation hadn’t been interrupted, “Since Colby’s here in the hotel, what do you think about me speaking to him directly?”

Finn looked up. “Why?”

“It would be helpful to find out how much he really knows, for one thing. For another, maybe it’s possible I could offer him a book deal or something.”

“Like what something?”

I shook my head.

Finn put down his knife and fork. “Okay, that’s a terrible idea. For a number of reasons.”

“Such as?” As if I didn’t know. But it was frustrating not to be in control. Frustrating to be told I had to sit back and wait for Finn to save me—or not save me.

“Bad optics, bad precedent, bad move.”

“Sorry. You’re going to have to explain a little further than that. If we could give Colby whatever it is he wants, that could be the end of it.”

You don’t have to be an editor of crime fiction to know that’s not how blackmailers work, but I was clutching at straws.

Finn shook his head. “First of all, he’s not alone in this blackmail scheme—assuming that’s what it is. We’ve also got the driver of the Cadillac—unless you think that was Colby?”

“No. It wasn’t Colby.”

Or had it been? I was starting to doubt my memory. It had been dark. I’d had an impression of size and age, but the driver’s hair had been silver. He’d moved easily. Maybe he was younger than I’d realized?

Finn said, “Even if Colby is the only one who actually knows anything, it’s too risky. It borders on witness tampering—even if Colby isn’t officially a witness yet. It could look like you’re trying to buy his silence or intimidate him through the pretense of a professional relationship.”

“I am trying to buy his silence!”

“The point isn’t lost on me,” Finn said grimly.

“Did you hear me when I said we needed to be strategic and careful? Approaching Colby puts you on record. Any conversation could be recorded, overheard, or twisted. It indicates panic. If Colby’s fishing for leverage, approaching him confirms that you believe there’s something to hide. ”

I opened my mouth, but he spoke over me.

“And finally, it makes you look guilty. Even a sincere offer could be read as a bribe, threat, or an attempt at manipulation.”

“Extortion is a crime, too.”

“It sure is. But so far, he hasn’t tried to extort anything from you. He submitted a weird partial manuscript that freaked you out for reasons he might be unaware of.”

“You’re joking.”

“That’s what a lawyer would argue. The guilty flee, etc.”

I swallowed, nodded once, curtly, and stared out at the choppy white-capped water.

I could feel Finn’s gaze as he continued to plow his way through his pancakes. He said finally, “If, depending on what we learn from Milo’s family, I think talking to Colby is warranted, I’ll talk to him. But it’s a risk.”

“No.” On this point I was adamant. “If one of us has to take that risk, it’ll be me.”

Finn didn’t bother debating. He sat back, sipping his coffee contemplatively. “Tell me about Milo.”

“Like what? Why?”

“Victimology,” he prompted. “We start the investigation with the victim.”

“I know, but Dominic was the victim.”

“We know who killed Dominic. The mystery here is what happened to Milo.”

He was right. I wasn’t sure why I was arguing. “Right. Milo was… He was different. Different from Dominic for sure. Different from everyone else I knew. He wasn’t just a jock. He was smart and talented.”

“Did you grow up together?”

“I met him in theater.”

“ Theater ?” Finn echoed. “You do not strike me as the theater type.”

I smiled faintly. “I know. I’m not. But I was an introverted kid.

Shy. Self-conscious. Painfully awkward. If I had to get up and speak, I’d break into a cold sweat.

So, I decided I would take speech. But speech class was full and so I ended up having to take theater instead. And that’s where I met Milo.”

“Was Milo a theater type?”

“He had a really good singing voice. He always got a role in the musicals. His acting was so-so. It didn’t matter because he was so good-looking. He had that type of personality that draws people in. He could talk to anybody.”

Finn’s mouth curved. “And he talked to you.”