She looked at me and said, “Evidently not.”

“Oh, so now I’m doing it, too.”

She studied me a moment, then seemed to come to a realization. “You’ve used this whole thing with your daughter as an excuse to break off with me.”

I was too stunned to say anything right away. Then I almost laughed. “What?”

“You never return my calls. I know you look and see if it’s me calling and don’t pick up.”

“Kate,” I said.

“Is that what I was for you? A good fuck and now it’s over?”

“Kate, I don’t have time for this discussion right now. I have to book a flight.”

“You see? You’re doing it right now. It’s what my therapist calls an avoidance strategy.”

“Your therapist?”

“Just tell me, Tim. Is your daughter actually missing? Or is she just off at summer camp somewhere? Were you even talking to some woman from Seattle just then?”

I leaned back in my chair, let my arms hang down at my sides. Exhaustion, defeat, take your pick.

“I have a lot to do, Kate,” I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. And then I said something that was probably very stupid. “What do I owe you for the Chinese food?”

“Fuck you,” she said and went down the stairs.

I got out of the chair as if to follow, then decided there really wasn’t any point. I heard some containers of Chinese food being thrown around the kitchen, then the slamming of a door.

I’d clean up later.

I dropped back into the chair, grabbed the receiver and called the police. Not the emergency number, but the line for the office Kip Jennings worked out of. A fellow detective said she was off duty. I explained that it was urgent and asked whether he could relay a message and have her call me.

He said he’d see what he could do.

I hung up and turned back to the computer to look up flights. I nearly booked a 1:59 p.m. US Airways flight out of LaGuardia, then just before confirming my arrangements noticed that I had to switch planes in Philadelphia.

“Fuck that,” I said.

Then I found a Jet Blue flight that departed the same time, and was $300 more, that went nonstop to Seattle. It was a six-hour flight, which would put me into Seattle around 5 p.m. local time. Assuming it took me an hour to get into the city, I could be looking for Yolanda Mills, and my daughter, by early evening.

I didn’t know when to book a return ticket for, so I didn’t book one at all. I confirmed my choice, provided all my credit card info, then waited for the ticket to be emailed to me and printed it out.

The phone rang. I had the receiver in my hand before the first ring had ended.

“Mr. Blake? Detective Jennings here.” She sounded nasal.

“Hi, thanks, listen, I have a lead on Sydney.”

“Really,” she said, with less enthusiasm than I might have expected. “She’s been in contact with you?”

“No.”

“What’s this lead?”

“A woman who works at a drop-in for teenage runaways read about Syd on the Net. She got in touch. She’s seen Syd. I’ve already booked a flight out at two tomorrow.”

“Mr. Blake, I’m not sure that’s wise.”

In the background, I could hear a kid shouting, “Mom! I’m ready!”

“It’s all I’ve got right now. I can’t sit around here in Milford.”

“The thing is, it could be someone trying to scam you.”

“She didn’t ask for anything,” I said. “She said it wouldn’t be Christian.”

Kip Jennings made a snorting noise. “This woman may not be asking now, not yet. But once you’ve flown all the way out there-Cassie! I’m on the phone! I’ll be up in a minute!” A sigh. “Once you get out there, that’s when she’ll suddenly come up with a reason why you need to pay her. Or she’ll be asking about a reward. You’ll think, you’ve come so far, you’ll give her whatever she wants. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.”

“I don’t think it’s like that. It doesn’t feel like that.” I didn’t want to believe this was a shakedown. “A few hours ago, when we went up to see my daughter’s car, I started thinking, maybe things aren’t looking so good. Syd’s car abandoned… the blood. But this, this is good news. This is solid.”

“How?” Jennings said. “You’ve got the word of a woman you don’t know who… How did she even connect up with you?”

“She checks websites about missing kids, sees if they match up with any of the kids in her shelter.”

“It sounds fishy,” Jennings said.

I refused to let her defeat me. “What would you do,” I asked, “if it were Cassie?”

A long pause at the other end of the line. “Mr. Blake, did you call just to tell me you’re heading out there, or is there something specific you want me to do?”

“Call the Seattle police. Have them put out an APB or whatever it is on her.”

“I’ll call them, but I have to be honest. A runaway teen isn’t going to be a high priority for them. I’ll tell them about finding the car, that this may be more than a simple runaway, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up that they’re going to jump all over this.”

“That blood,” I said. “That was on Syd’s car. Did you find out whose it is?”

“That’ll take a while, Mr. Blake. Maybe, by the time you get back from Seattle, we’ll know something. And if your daughter ends up coming home with you, maybe it won’t matter.”

I WENT DOWN TO THE KITCHEN, cleaned a container’s worth of chow mein off the floor. The boxes Kate hadn’t dumped contained some breaded shrimps, beef with broccoli, and some plain rice.

I ate it cold.

Then I went back upstairs and packed a small over-the-shoulder case. Something I could carry straight onto the plane. I didn’t want to be waiting around for checked luggage.

I had a little room left over in my bag, so I went into Syd’s room and looked at the stuffed animals she had on display in various places. In her chair, on her bookshelves, tucked in around her pillows. Tiny dogs and bunnies. A small, once-furry moose given to Syd, when she was two, by my late mother. It had endured so many years of snuggling it was nearly threadbare. Some things little girls never outgrow, even when they’re leaving the house in fishnets with studs in their nose, purple streaks in their hair.

Her stuffed friends weren’t arranged this way the day she disappeared. She’d gone to work leaving her bed unmade. The animals had been tossed all over the place. But when a week had gone by, I made the bed and put the animals in position to welcome Sydney home.

They were probably as tired of waiting as I was.

I thought one of them should accompany me to Seattle.

I picked the moose. His name, according to the tag, was Milt. He wouldn’t have been my first choice. His puffy antlers made him more difficult to pack. But I knew he was Syd’s favorite.

I got under the covers, expecting not to sleep. But I guess the tension I’d been living with for the last few weeks had ebbed slightly with Yolanda’s news.

I just hoped her husband would sort out sending the picture in the morning, as promised.

I WAS UP BEFORE SIX, checked the computer before doing anything else. No news. I showered and shaved, went back to check the computer again.

Still nothing. Then I remembered it was only a little after three in the morning in Seattle.

That didn’t stop me from checking every five minutes.

Shortly after nine, there was mail.

A short note from Yolanda: “Hope this is her. Let me know.” There was a picture attached.

I was afraid to open it. Up to now, I had convinced myself that the girl she’d seen was Sydney. It had to be Sydney. I had my ticket, my bags were packed. I was going to Seattle to bring back my girl.

But what if the picture turned out not to be her? What if this clearly was some other girl?

The time had come to find out one way or another. I double-clicked on the attachment snapshot and it opened up before my eyes.