Rating: ★★★★☆ Tags: Mystery Detective, General, Fiction

hate the word
panties). They’d been
hanging off a knob on the AC unit.
‘Oh, jeez. That’s embarrassing.’
Gilpin waited for an explanation.
‘Uh, one time Amy and I, well, you read her note. We
kinda, you know, you sometimes gotta spice things up a
little.’
Gilpin grinned. ‘Oh I get it, randy professor and naughty
student. I get it. You two really were doing it right.’ I reached

---

for the underwear, but Gilpin was already producing an
evidence bag from his pocket and sliding them in. ‘Just a
precaution,’ he said inexplicably.
‘Oh, please don’t,’ I said. ‘Amy would die—’ I caught
myself.
‘Don’t worry, Nick, it’s all protocol, my friend. You
wouldn’t believe the hoops we gotta jump through. 
Just in
case, just in case
. Ridiculous. What’s the clue say?’
I let him read over my shoulder again, his jarringly fresh
smell distracting me.
‘So what’s that one mean?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea,’ I lied.
I finally rid myself of Gilpin, then drove aimlessly down the
highway so I could make a call on my disposable. No
pickup. I didn’t leave a message. I sped for a while longer,
as if I could get anywhere, and then drove the 45 minutes
back toward town to meet the Elliotts at the Days Inn. I
walked into a lobby packed with members of the Midwest
Payroll Vendors Association – wheelie bags parked
everywhere, their owners slurping complimentary drinks in
small plastic cups and networking, forced guttural laughs
and pockets fished for business cards. I rode up the
elevator with four men, all balding and khaki’d and golf-
shirted, lanyards bouncing off round married bellies.
Marybeth opened the door while talking on her cell
phone; she pointed toward the TV and whispered to me,
‘We have a cold-cut tray if you want, sweetheart,’ then went
into the bathroom and closed the door, her murmurs
continuing.
She emerged a few minutes later, just in time for the

---

local five o’clock news from St. Louis, which led with Amy’s
disappearance. ‘Perfect photo,’ Marybeth murmured at the
screen, where Amy peered back at us. ‘People will see it
and really know what Amy looks like.’
I’d thought the portrait – a head shot from Amy’s brief
fling with acting – beautiful but unsettling. Amy’s pictures
gave a sense of her actually watching you, like an old-time
haunted-house portrait, the eyes moving from left to right.
‘We should get them some candid photos too,’ I said.
‘Some everyday ones.’
The Elliotts nodded in tandem but said nothing,
watching. When the spot was done, Rand broke the
silence: ‘I feel sick.’
‘I know,’ Marybeth said.
‘How are you holding up, Nick?’ Rand asked, hunched
over, hands on both knees, as if he were preparing to get
up from the sofa but couldn’t quite do it.
‘I’m a goddamn mess, to tell the truth. I feel so
useless.’
‘You know, I gotta ask, what about your employees,
Nick?’ Rand finally stood. He went to the minibar, poured
himself a ginger ale, then turned to me and Marybeth.
‘Anyone? Something? Anything?’ I shook my head;
Marybeth asked for a club soda.
‘Want some gin with it too, babe?’ Rand asked, his
deep voice going high on the final word.
‘Sure. Yes. I do.’ Marybeth closed her eyes, bent in
half, and brought her face between her knees; then she
took a deep breath and sat back up in her exact previous
position, as if it were all a yoga exercise.
‘I gave them lists of everyone,’ I said. ‘But it’s a pretty

---

tame business, Rand. I just don’t think that’s the place to
look.’
Rand put a hand across his mouth and rubbed upward,
the flesh of his cheeks bunching up around his eyes. ‘Of
course, we’re doing the same with our business, Nick.’
Rand and Marybeth always referred to the