“You’re right.” But her head was full of doubts as she ate a pancake. She went back to her bedroom, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and walked Ava and Mia to the bus stop. Mac picked up Sophie to take her to preschool, as promised, and Morgan returned to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

Lance called as she poured.

She answered, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Morgan updated him on Gianna’s condition, then asked, “How is Sharp?”

“As you’d expect.” Lance sounded depressed. “I don’t know how he’s going to be if we don’t find her.”

“I know,” Morgan said. “The kids are off to school. I can be at the office in fifteen.”

“Don’t rush. Sharp and I are going to question the former Olander foreman, Ronald Alexander. Stella tried yesterday, but he wasn’t very cooperative. Sharp wants to try a different approach.”

“Stella isn’t going to like that,” Morgan warned.

“Probably not,” Lance agreed. “But Sharp is going with or without me. I don’t want him running off on his own. I’d rather none of us be alone.”

“All right. I’ll review files here while you’re gone. Grandpa can help—”

“Hold on,” Lance said. “Turn on the news. A reporter is interviewing Kim Holgersen.”

With her phone still pressed to her ear, Morgan left the kitchen and turned on the TV in the family room.

On the screen, Olivia’s literary agent was standing in front of a small one-story house. The street was lined with similar homes on tiny lots. It looked like a senior community. A news van was parked on the side of the road.

The reporter shoved a microphone at her. “Are you worried about your client Olivia Cruz?”

Kim pushed her long red hair behind her ear. “Yes, I am.”

“Have you heard any updates from the police?” the reporter asked, following her.

“I’m not sure I should be talking to you.” Kim turned toward the house.

“You live in New York City. Why are you here?” the reporter persisted, bombarding her with questions faster than Kim could answer them. “Did the police ask you to come? Do you know anything about Olivia Cruz’s disappearance?”

Kim was no pushover. She faced the camera. “I’m here to visit my parents, but I’m available to the police at any time. Olivia is my friend as well as my client. I wish I knew something that could help bring her home, but all I can do is pray for her safe return. I can’t imagine what her family is going through.” Kim’s voice broke. She paused to compose herself. “If anyone has information about Olivia’s whereabouts, please call the police.” She turned and walked away.

The reporter added a few lines about Olivia being missing for over three days and signed off.

“How did he find her at her parents’ house?” Morgan turned off the television. “The press has been unusually relentless, and someone is clearly feeding them information.”

“Probably the usual leak in the police department,” Lance said. “Sharp is ready. I have to go.”

“Good luck with the foreman.”

“I’ll call you when we’re finished,” Lance said. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Morgan ended the call and went back to the kitchen.

Grandpa pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. “Let’s get to work. How can I help?”

Morgan brought out her laptop. “I want to focus on Joe Franklin. Lance and Sharp talked to him last night, but they both felt he was evasive. They want to know if there’s any way he could be connected to Cliff’s victim or any of the other five girls who are still missing.”

“Are you thinking he killed those girls?” Grandpa asked.

“I don’t know. But it would explain why he didn’t want to talk about an appeal for his brother. If Joe is guilty, he wouldn’t want the case reopened.”

Grandpa pointed to the doorway. “Would you get my laptop from my bedroom?”

“Sure.” Morgan fetched his computer. “Could you find Joe’s testimony in Cliff’s trial? I’d like to read it.”

They sat side by side at the island. Morgan reviewed Joe’s testimony and background information but found nothing new. Then she shifted her focus to the auto shop where Cliff worked. To date, it was the only link between all six women besides their disappearances. Morgan was scanning the ABOUT US page when she noticed the initials at the bottom of the website.

“Site design by JF, Inc.,” she read aloud, a chill settling over her.

“Joe Franklin’s initials are JF,” Grandpa said.

Morgan searched her computer for the background report from Lance’s mother. Buried on the second page was the name of Joe’s game development company. “There it is. Joe owns JF, Inc.”

“He must have some relationship with the owner of the auto shop where his brother worked if he designed the website.”

“If he designed the website, would he also have access to all of the customer records, including the names and addresses of Brandi Holmes and the other five women who went missing?”

Could Joe have killed six women? Was Olivia number seven?

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lance stared through his windshield at the garden center. The afternoon sun shone on the hood. They’d been watching the exit for hours, waiting for Ronald Alexander to leave work.

Sharp’s hand bounced on his knee. He reached for the take-out cup of coffee in the console and shook it. Lance had half a cup left, but he didn’t offer it to his boss. Six months before, Sharp had suffered a serious abdominal injury. He’d fully recovered, but he looked gaunt today, as if he’d lost some of the fifteen pounds he’d gained back since his injury. Lance understood. He felt sick and helpless over Olivia’s disappearance. If Morgan were missing, he would be out of his mind.

Sharp twisted the cap off a bottle of water. “There he is.”

Lance spotted the former Olander Dairy employee leaving the main building of the garden center. A dozen vehicles sat between the Jeep and Alexander’s truck. Lance wasn’t worried about being seen.

Alexander crossed the parking lot and climbed into his battered pickup.

“What do you want to do?” Lance started the engine of the Jeep.

“Let’s follow him and see where he goes.” Sharp straightened, rolled his head, and checked his phone for the fiftieth time.

Lance hung back, waiting for Alexander to pull out of the lot before steering the Jeep toward the exit. He drove onto the country road, keeping two cars between the Jeep and Alexander’s truck.

“He’s not going home,” Sharp said as the pickup made a left at a stop sign.

Lance eased off the gas. They’d lost the two-car buffer. He allowed more distance between the vehicles.

Ten minutes later, Alexander turned into the entrance of a small local bar, Wings & More.

Lance parked three rows away. “What do you want to do?”

Sharp reached for the door handle. “Let’s go talk to him.”

Lance followed him inside. At two o’clock in the afternoon, the crowd was light. A few men sat at the bar, their attention on football highlights that played on a flat-screen TV. Most of the tables were empty. The bar smelled of hot grease and beer. He spotted Alexander alone at the end of the bar, drinking a beer. Lance and Sharp split up and flanked him. Alexander was focused on his drink.