Intrigued, and now truly snooping, I tapped the message. It brought up a picture of a half-fallen storage shed with cardboard boxes inside. It was James’s place right across the street.

I looked toward the bedroom. Toward Reyes. Why would they be checking out a homeless guy?

An hour later, after we’d made a picnic of crackers and peanut butter on top of Denzel – aka, the second most incredible breakfast I’d had in ages – we headed to the café.

“Is Erin working today?” Reyes asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said, curious about the inquiry.

We walked in, and Reyes had been right. Dixie wasn’t the least bit concerned at how late he was.

I glared at him. “Are you trading sexual favors with our boss for special consideration and advancement opportunities you are under qualified for?”

A lopsided grin spread over his face. “No.”

“Oh. I was going to say that if that’s what it takes, I’d do ’er.”

“What about Cookie?”

“I’d do her, too, but I don’t think it would get me very far with Dixie. Unless, you know, she was into that sort of thing.”

He let out a soft laugh. “I meant, is she working today?”

“Oh, right. Looks like it.” She walked out of the bathroom, a mortified expression on her face, her blouse splotched with dark espresso. “Short controlled bursts,” I reminded her.

She gave me a murderous glare worthy of Lizzie Borden.

“That color looks great on you,” I said, trying to help.

That time, she flipped me off. I decided to stop while I was ahead.

Reyes wrapped his arms loosely around me and pulled me closer. “You need to come back for lunch if you can.”

“I bet I can,” I said, intrigued.

“I think you’ll like what I have in store for you.”

“Okay, but it can’t be better than posole for breakfast.”

“You might be surprised.”

“I can hardly wait. And looks like she is.”

He turned to see what I was talking about as Erin walked in, looking both haggard and… at ease. Reyes gave me a sweet kiss, just enough to get my juices flowing, then went to the kitchen to start his day. Erin walked over to me. Francie was already there, and she watched us with a certain kind of bloodlust in her eyes.

When, without saying a word, Erin hugged me, I thought Francie’s jaw would fall off it dropped so hard.

Erin set me at arm’s length but again said nothing, and I realized she couldn’t. She was too choked up. Too grateful.

“You’re welcome,” I said, giving her hands a squeeze. “I’m so happy for you, Erin.”

“I am, too,” she said with a hiccup of emotion. “I can never repay you.”

“What? Erin, no. Please, please, please, don’t ever feel like you owe me.”

“Okay.” She sniffed. “I’ll try, but just so you know, Billy has vowed to build you a gnarly hog when he gets the money to.”

I burst out laughing.

“He loves motorcycles.”

“Well, tell him thanks, but he needs to save that for Hannah’s college fund. I have a feeling she’s going to be incredibly artistic.”

Just as I was about to lose all hope of seeing Mr. P today, in he walked with the stripper in tow. Or, with Helen in tow. I’d gotten to know her a little more over the last few days. She had a great sense of humor and offered me some tips from her hooking days. I’d used one on Reyes last night, and he almost came unglued. I totally owed her.

“Hey, Mr. P,” I said as he sat in a booth. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

“Well, hello there to you, too, and of course. Sounds serious.”

Francie took his order as I settled in across from him.

“Do you know the Vandenbergs?”

He nodded. “Not well, but I do know William from the club.”

“The country club?”

He snorted. “No, the strip club. The one in Tarrytown.”

Helen suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Mr. V goes to strip clubs?” I asked, trying not to look too surprised.

“Only with his wife. It’s her idea, I think.”

When I had an even harder time getting past that, he added, “Don’t worry. They’re not swingers or anything. Just like to appreciate what God put on the earth every once in a while. And I promise you me, that woman did not leave him.”

Finally, someone immune to the gossipmongers. “I don’t think she did either. Do you know if they have a cabin?”

“Oh, gosh, I just don’t know, hon.”

My hopes fled the scene like a parolee at a busted meth lab. I took out the picture I’d grabbed out of Mr. V’s store.

“Does this area look familiar?”

“Looks like it might be up at Blue Mountain Lake, but I can’t be sure.”

“It’s Lake Oscawana,” Helen said, taking a look herself. “That’s Doc Emmett’s place. I been there plenty. Lots of floor space.”

“Sorry I can’t be of more help,” Mr. P said, and I got the bizarre feeling that he wasn’t. “Why are you asking?”

Excitement swelled inside me nonetheless. Helen knew. “Oh, I just love the area,” I said, lying through my teeth. “And I thought if this was their cabin, I might ask to rent it for a weekend.”

“Good idea, Janey. Get out of the city. Get some fresh air.”

“Exactly. Well, thanks anyway.”

I got up and motioned for Helen to join me in the little niñas’ room. She did, and five minutes later, working from her verbal directions, I had a crude map of the area. I also knew that while Helen was her first name, her stage name was Helen Bedd, and that Mr. V’s friend Doc Emmett liked fine whiskies, lap dances, and hunting. He’d gone hunting, in fact, last week, and nobody had seen him since.

Using Helen’s map, I took the Taconic State Parkway for about forty-five minutes to Lake Oscawana, where Doc Emmett’s cabin sat nestled on the waterfront. I drove around the lake to the northeast shore, taking this turn and that, until I finally found Chippewa Road. The cabin I sought was somewhere on that road, but it was broad daylight. Well, cloudy-with-a-chance-of-rain daylight. I couldn’t just drive up there and ask if the Vandenbergs were home. I’d been hoping an idea would magically pop into my head as I drove. Sadly, nothing popped, magical or otherwise. I’d just have to do some recon and see what I could see. Hopefully, without getting anyone killed.

I parked the Fiesta and hiked up the road, passing by a house now and again, but nothing that looked like the cabin in the picture. I was beginning to worry Helen had been wrong when I spotted a canoe I’d seen in one of Mr. V’s photos. The cabin looked different. It could have been the starkness of the forest as compared to the lush greens of the summer camping pictures they’d taken.

Either way, this had to be the place. By the time I found the cabin, I was too close. They would look out a window and spot me, if they hadn’t already. I didn’t see any vehicles, but they could have had them all parked out back. I walked until I could no longer see any part of the cabin, then doubled back, taking a trail that led farther inland. If I circled around, I might spot cars or other outbuildings where they could have stashed cars.