We get off the phone, me now feeling even more like I’m being asked to find somebody who just wants some time to herself without people tracking her down, which is something I have always been very against. In my career as a private investigator, I’ve always been very aware of the need of some people to get away from their lives and the critical importance of them not being interfered with. It isn’t so simple as the people in their lives deserving to know where they are or having the right to be informed of their movements because they always have been before. That isn’t always the right answer.

  Sometimes the person who wants to search for a supposed missing person is the very reason that person needs to stay unfound, the very person they most need to avoid. Every time I think of searching for someone who has chosen to leave their life and is doing everything they can to keep hidden, I think of my mother and the organization that rescued her and protected her for as long as it could. That was the same organization that my cousin Emma’s mother was a part of, which allowed her to save the lives of countless women and children over her years of service.

  The organization saved my mother from a horrific situation and ensured she had a life that was safe and comfortable until she encountered someone they never expected—the man who became my father and then was responsible for her brutal murder when I was a young teenager. Neither of us knew it at the time, but that was the first time Emma’s and my paths crossed, many years before we would actually meet on a train without knowing how our lives were intertwined.

  I know the organization Mariye devoted her life to came up against overzealous PIs who tried to hunt the women down even when it became abundantly clear they needed to be kept away from the men who hired the investigators. All they saw was the contract. They didn’t see the terror of the women who weren’t missing at all but were just finally taking control of their own lives, trying to find a place where they could live safely and raise their children in peace.

  With this in mind, I think back on all the interactions with Bruce, Stephanie, and Clayton, trying to figure out if it seemed like any kind of abuse might have been going on. I can’t think of any kind of obvious signs, and Bruce’s immediate outward displays of worry about her aren’t enough to say that the problems in their marriage hadn’t bubbled over to something more severe.

  As much as we would all like to think that the signs of abuse are extremely blatant and that we would know if the people around us were abusing their partners or are being abused, it isn’t always that straightforward and easy to identify. The family has admitted that Marcy had left like this before, but this time they seem especially concerned. Whether she’s possibly doing something to harm herself or there are darker secrets in the family I haven’t unraveled, that makes finding her and ensuring she’s all right my first priority before anything else.

  Another text comes through from Bruce while Xavier and I are having breakfast the next morning. He tells me that Marcy took money out of the ATM on the island the night before. I immediately call Detective Bronson to let him know what’s going on and ask him to get the security footage. He agrees, and Xavier and I finish eating before getting ready and heading to the ferry dock.

  Just as we were expecting, there’s a huge crush of people already. We manage to get a place on the ferry and head to the parking lot, hoping to snag a spot. We’re lucky enough to get a space and join the crowd swarming toward the village.

  I can’t imagine how strange an experience this is for the locals. While there are tourists on the island all the time, the holiday celebrations seem to have caused the island to be overrun with people. But this is something that happens every holiday, apparently, and they must be accustomed to it by now. Besides, the crowd is teeming with a festive mood, which takes some of the intensity out of the large number of people.

  I continuously look over at Xavier to check on him and make sure he’s doing all right. He’s very quiet, but he seems to have gone into his adaptation mode, where he takes in everything around him and simply functions rather than trying to be much of a part of it. He could warm up later and enjoy the parade, but I’ll be careful to watch for any signs that all this was getting to be too much for him.

  I did some research into the businesses on the island last night after talking to Bruce, so I know where the General Store is. Xavier and I walk there and barely squeeze ourselves into the space. It looks largely like what its name imparts: a romanticized recreation of an old-fashioned general store. Along with the locally made gourmet treats and snacks and basic sundries, there are gifts and Twilight Cove souvenirs displayed on wooden shelves and racks.

  Just like I did at the Hyacinth Boutique, I track down a clerk and ask to speak to a manager. This woman doesn’t even try to cover how flustered she is and rushes off. A moment later, a man approaches me.

  “I’m Jacob,” he says. “Manager. What can I do for you?”

  “Hi,” I say. “My name is Dean Steele, and I’m a private investigator. I’m working on a case involving a potentially missing person, and I think she came in here. Could I show you a picture and see if you recognize her?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Steele, but it’s been extremely busy the last couple of days. The Mardi Gras celebration always brings in a huge number of people, and I couldn’t possibly recognize one person who was in here. Do you know for a fact that she was here?” he asks.

  “A transaction showed up on her banking account that showed she made a purchase here yesterday,” I say.

  “But you don’t know what she bought or who she interacted with?” Jacob asks.

  “No,” I tell him.

  “Then I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you anymore. I’m sorry, but I need to get back to helping my employees. Today is a very challenging day for us, and we really need all hands on deck, as they say. Thank you for stopping by,” he says.

  He scurries away before I’m able to even give him my contact information, and I let out a sigh of frustration. He was able to give me almost no information. I look around, and I see that just like the boutique, there don’t seem to be any cameras in the shop. We leave the shop and are walking down the sidewalk toward a coffee shop to grab a cup when Detective Bronson calls.

  “I was able to get the footage,” he tells me.

  “Did you watch it?” I ask.

  “I did. It’s a lot like the other footage of her going to the ATM. It’s just Marcy getting money out. There’s no one else in the car or anything,” he says.

  “I’m on Twilight Cove right now, but I’d like to see it maybe later this afternoon,” I tell him.

  “You could do a video call,” Xavier recommends. “He could just hold his phone up to show the footage.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I say. “Can we do that?”

  “Sure. Give me just a second to get it set up.”

  He cues up the footage and then switches the call to video. I watch the footage through and ask to see it again. Something about it strikes me as strange, but it’s hard to pinpoint.

  “There’s something odd about the way she reaches out to the machine,” I say. “Can you play it one more time?”

  The detective plays the footage through again, and I realize what I’m looking at.

  “It looks pretty much the same to me,” he says.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Scan back a little and look at the way she reaches out to put her card in the machine and input her PIN.”

  “Yeah?” he says as he watches that portion again.

  “She doesn’t lean out of the car,” I point out. “The last footage from an ATM shows her leaning really far out of the window so you could see her face. She gets close to the machine when she’s putting the card in, doing her PIN, the whole thing. This time she’s kind of turned and reaches her arm as far as she can rather than leaning out. It almost looks like she’s aware of the camera and doesn’t want to be seen on it this time.”

  “That’s a major discrepancy from the last ATM footage and the way she acted at the hotel,” Xavier says. “In those, it looked like she didn’t care at all if she was seen.”

  “Exactly,” I say.

  “What do you think that means?” the detective asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I say.

  I don’t know if the change in the way Marcy is acting can be attributed just to her probably knowing she is being followed, or if it is something else entirely.

  Almost as soon as I’m off the phone with the detective, Bruce calls.

  “Have you found out anything?” he asks almost before I can finish my greeting.

  “I went to the General Store, but they’ve been so busy they weren’t able to confirm that they saw Marcy. We know that she was at the Hyacinth Boutique because the owner was able to recognize her. The ATM footage doesn’t show anyone else in the car with her. She just gets money out and drives away.”

  I decide not to tell them about the strange behavior I noticed in the security footage. I don’t know why she’s acting that way, but it looks to me like she has caught on that she’s being followed and is not happy about it. She wants to stay out of sight as much as possible, and that’s something I take serious note of. If there’s a reason she’s trying to stay away, I want to respect it. But now I also want to be sure that she’s safe.

  “I don’t understand this,” Bruce says, his voice starting to sound angrier. “How can you not have found her? She’s right out in the open in all of these places. It’s not like she’s states away or hiding in some bunker. She’s right there on the same tiny little island you are, and you still can’t find her. This is ridiculous. What are we paying you for? I knew it was absurd of my son to call you in the first place.”

  “Dad, give me the phone,” I hear Clayton say in the background.

  There’s some grumbling between the two men before finally I hear Clayton’s voice through the line.

  “Dean?”

  “Hi, Clayton,” I say.

  “I’m so sorry about my father,” he says. “He’s just really upset, and it’s getting harder for him the more time that passes. He keeps thinking she’s right there within grasp, and then she doesn’t come home, and it’s really getting to him.”

  “I completely understand,” I say. “I know this is really hard for him. It has to be frustrating, not knowing what’s going on and thinking that she’s so close without being able to get to her. I’ve never been married, so I can’t say that I can commiserate with him exactly, but I do know what it’s like to have someone important to you be missing and not know where to turn next.”

  My mind goes to the difficult weeks of seeking out Owen in the immediate aftermath of Brielle’s murder and how hard it was, knowing that I needed to find him, but not having any idea about where to look or what to do. The situations are different, but there are enough similarities that I can empathize with Bruce and his children.

  “Thank you,” Clayton says. “I know that you’re trying.”

  “I am,” I tell him. “And that’s the thing. I think your mother knows that she’s being pursued and just doesn’t want to be found right now.”

  I’m trying to find a way to suggest gently that they don’t need to be as aggressive in their approach to finding her without coming across like I don’t care.

  “No,” Clayton says. “It’s not that simple. We told you that she’d gone away before, but it wasn’t like this. There’s something wrong. There has to be.”

  “Do you have a reason for thinking that something could be wrong?” I ask. “Something other than her not wanting to communicate with any of you?”

  It feels like an invasive question, and it’s unlikely he would be totally open with me over the phone, but I’m hoping for something in his answer, even the tone of his voice, that might give me a hint as to why this has been such an intense drive for them.

  “My father told us about her suicide threats,” he finally says, his voice shaking slightly as he tells me. “He didn’t want to say anything about it because he didn’t want to upset us and make us even more worried than we already are, but he figured since he told you and the detective knows, it was eventually going to come out. You said yourself she’s being considered as an at-risk missing person.”

  “She is,” I tell him. “And we’re still looking. I’m following every lead I can. She just keeps herself a step or two ahead. But I haven’t given up. You shouldn’t either. I’m keeping an eye out for her while I’m on the island and watching out for her car. But right now, what you need to do for yourself and for your father is to try to take a step back and take a breath. I know that’s hard, and it sounds like an absolutely ridiculous thing for me to say, but try not to worry so much. Take care of yourselves, and know that we’re doing what we can right now.”

  Even as I’m saying it, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by telling the family that or if there really could be something for them to worry about. I can’t help but very intensely feel Bruce’s pointed accusation about not being able to find her, even though she’s making herself so obvious, and I wonder what it could mean for Marcy and for the rest of her family.

  With nothing left to do but wait for the parade, a sudden thought comes to me, and I look up the contact information for the ferry boat agency. I call the number fully expecting to get voicemail because of the busyness of the day, but I’m surprised when a woman answers.

  “Hello,” I say. “My name is Dean Steele. I’m a private investigator and am currently investigating a case. I have a quick question for you.”

  “I’d be happy to help if I can,” Sandra, the cheerful-sounding receptionist, says.

  “Thank you. I was wondering if the ferry is equipped with anything that keeps track of who uses it. Technology to scan license plates, maybe? Something that would be able to identify the people who use the ferry either way,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says. “We have cameras that collect and record the license plate information for every car that enters the ferry as it enters.”

  “That’s fantastic. And if I was to have a detective obtain a warrant for that information, the company would be able to provide it?” I ask.

  “I don’t see why not,” she says. “The information is stored in the cloud by date, so it would be fairly easy to narrow down.”

  “Great. Thank you so much,” I say.

  “Happy Mardi Gras!” she says.

  “You too,” I say, wondering if she’s going to have the chance to take in any of the festivities or if she’ll be working through the entire day.

  I remember what Celeste said about the business owners opening in the morning and then closing down for the parade before open ing again. That’s dedication to a holiday celebration. I hope those working at the ferry at least get a little bit of time to join in the festivities at some point today.

  Detective Bronson answers my call, sounding tired.

  “Hey, Detective,” I say. “I need you to do something else for me. For the investigation.”

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Get a warrant for the records of the ferry agency. They have cameras that capture and record the license plates of all the cars boarding the ferry to and from Twilight Cove. We need a warrant to get that information so we can see when Marcy went onto the island and if she has left,” I say. “Unless you think talking to the local police would be easier. They might be willing to talk to the agency and ask for the records without a warrant.”

  “The local police on Twilight Cove is a really small force. They only handle the most basic calls and emergencies. Anything that needs more attention is handled by the Echo Harbor department. If there’s a need for a detective or a larger force, it goes through us. We are both small communities, so we make do with one primary force,” he says.

  “The entire force will be working the Mardi Gras celebrations today. They even called in extra officers from Echo Harbor to help manage the parade and other events. I doubt you’re going to find anyone who would be willing to take the time to talk to the agency. I’ll put in the request for the warrant.”

  “All right, thanks,” I say. “Let me know if you hear anything.”

  I hang up, both surprised and not surprised by the revelation about the police force. I’ve encountered other instances of neighboring towns where the smaller community relies on the assistance of the force from the larger community to handle bigger cases. It might contribute to the police seeming to be not as motivated to pursue Marcy if they are already loaded with other cases or anticipate higher demand with the holiday.

  It’s time for us to meet Celeste near the parade route, and we go to the meeting place she sent me this morning. There are already too many people lined up along the road for us to wade through and find Celeste without knowing where we’re going, so we agreed to meet outside of the Hyacinth Boutique.

  The roads of the village have been shut down and all cars have been removed to provide all the space for the parade. People have packed in along the road, eager to get the best view of the parade as it goes by. A barrier set up in the center of the sidewalk indicates where the crowd has to stop so that people are still able to walk down a narrow path up and down the road. I see officers dotting the path on the road and along the sidewalk to keep control of the crowd.

  We find Celeste pressed nearly up against the window of the boutique, and her face lights up when she sees us. She’s wearing heavy makeup with glittery eyeshadow painted on to look like a mask.

  “You look festive,” I say.

  “I didn’t know face painting was welcomed at this event,” Xavier says.

  “Of course it is!” Celeste says. “Let the good times roll!”

  “Thank you for not attempting to say that in French,” he says.

  Celeste’s eyes slide over to me.

  “Xavier has difficulty with accents, particularly those that are inaccurate,” I tell her.

  “Ah,” she says.

  “Who are you pretending to be?” Xavier asks.

  “Me?” Celeste says, then she seems to remember the elaborate makeup. “Oh no, this isn’t a costume of a specific character or anything, it’s just for fun. I don’t like the elastic bands of regular masks, and holding the ones on sticks is cumbersome.”