“I would suggest you not call it by that term in front of his parents.”

“Someone went shopping at the unsolicited opinion store.”

“I’ve expressed only one opinion,” Molly said mildly. “I guess my second one is that you seem on edge.”

“Do I? What an odd thing to say. I’m not nervous. I’m motivated.”

“Nora,” Molly said. “It will be fine. Do the story, remember this boy. But I think it would be best if we moved on to a new case for you to focus on. I think you’ve done all the good you can do for Jason Kirk.”

“If I’d found him, I would have done all the good. I need to find him, Molly.” Nora’s voice went low, and Molly looked surprised at the grit in her boss’s voice. “That girl who vanished hiking in Vancouver, well, we never found her. That couple from Illinois who went missing in Hungary. Never found them. This is a small island; I should be able to find out what happened to Jason Kirk.”

Molly opened her mouth to point out that the small island was surrounded by a vast ocean, and that the police were actually in charge of searches, not Nora Dare, but instead she simply closed her mouth and nodded.

THE suite. Then the nightclub where the mysterious and beautiful woman no one on Sint Pieter seemed to know had spirited Jason away, and then the beach where his torn shirt, the buttons ripped free as though in a fit of passion, had been found in the sand. The shirt was the only physical evidence of his disappearance.

Gary and Hope Kirk—Nora loved the appropriateness of the mother’s name—sat in the suite where they had been staying when their only child vanished. Nora’s eyebrow arched when the Kirks gave Molly a hug. She didn’t believe in getting close to the subjects. Both were pale and wan, as though grief were a disease slowly claiming them. They did not spend much time looking at each other.

But when the cameras started, Mr. and Mrs. Kirk joined hands, presenting their united face to the world.

“So let’s recall the night that Jason vanished. You’d spent a wonderful family day on the beach, yes?” Nora said.

It was the prologue to tragedy, and the Kirks did not disappoint. “Yes,” Hope Kirk said. “I didn’t feel well—I’d gotten sunburned and we decided to take it easy. We ate here at the hotel and then came back up to the room.”

“But Jason got restless, as young men will,” Nora prodded.

“Yes,” Hope said. “He wanted to go out to a bar and have a beer. I mean, you understand, he was on vacation with his parents. How rare is that? A college kid, and he was happy to be with us. We’d had a great time. We enjoyed each other’s company. He invited my husband to go with him . . . but Gary said no.”

Four little words, each an explosion of accusation. Gary glanced at his wife, and even though they were holding hands, Nora sensed a foggy coldness rising between them. An unmet blame, Nora thought, liking the phrase, wondering how she could work it into a question or her summary at the end of the show. “I wanted to stay here and take care of you,” Gary said.

“A sunburn’s not fatal,” Hope said. “I would have been fine.”

Gary stopped looking at Hope. “So. I didn’t want to cramp Jason’s style. Maybe he wanted to meet a girl. He can’t do that with his old man in tow.”

And Hope opened her mouth, as if to say, And he can’t vanish with his old man in tow. Instead she just said: “So Jason kissed me on the forehead and told me to feel better, and he left. Gary and I stayed in and watched movies.”

“And . . .” Nora began, but Hope wasn’t done.

“So, while our son vanished off the face of the earth, Nora, we watched movies. A movie we’d seen in the theater and parts of on cable. I mean, when he needed us, we were watching this stupid, stupid movie.” Her voice cracked like glass. “He was being kidnapped, or killed, or drugged, and we were sitting in this room, watching a movie.” Her voice, usually calm, rose toward a scream.

“I think . . . I think being back in the suite is a bad idea, Nora,” Gary said. “This isn’t helping anyone . . .”

Hope pulled her hand free of his and pounded her chest with the flat of her hand. “He comes to me in my dreams. He says, ‘Mom, I’m trapped. I can’t get where I’m supposed to be. I’m trapped here and no one can help me.’ He begs me to help him escape.”

This was new, Nora thought. Interesting. Because if Hope was cracking up, it was a whole new twist and angle to the story.

“Cut,” Molly said to the cameraman.

“Don’t you dare,” Nora hissed.

“I can’t help him, I don’t know how.” Hope Kirk’s words broke into a howl, face in hands, ruined in grief.

THREE bars stood down the street from the Hotel Sint Pieter, and Jason Kirk had visited them all. Nora and a quiet Molly and an utterly silent cameraman had followed his tracks.

The bartender at the Beer Pig crossed his thick arms. “Well, I only remember him because of the woman. Gorgeous she was, like a Halle Berry type. Very elegant, well dressed, sexy. I was surprised she was talking to an American college boy.”

“Did you see them meet?” Nora asked.

The bartender squirmed slightly under the hard, bright lights set up by the crew. “Well, yes. I saw her come in. She came to the bar, ordered a glass of pinot noir. Every guy in the room noticed her. Two other guys tried to buy her a drink. She said no, she was waiting for someone.”

“Waiting for someone,” Nora said, with portent.

“Yes, ma’am, waiting for someone. I heard her clearly, and I thought, well, who’s the lucky guy. But so this blond American kid comes in, and he comes to the bar, and the hottie, she locks her gaze on him. She wasn’t much older than he was, but she had a maturity. A woman of the world, but I mean in a classy way. But . . . he came over to her. He bought her another glass of wine. He must have felt confident in himself.”

Nora tilted her head. “And they talked.”

The bartender nodded. “Yes . . . but for her to have said she was waiting on someone, it implies she knew him. I don’t think she knew that boy before he arrived.”

Nora said, “So maybe she was waiting on a type of someone.”

The bartender shrugged. “I guess. She was ravishing. You couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

“You never heard him call her by her name?”

“No, ma’am.”

They moved on to the Glass House Pub. The waitress said, “Jason Kirk and this very pretty woman shared a bottle of pinot noir. She paid with cash and she tipped very well. I thought they were on a date. I’d never seen her in here before, and I would have remembered her, I think. He was drunk. Not obnoxious, but not in full control of himself.”

“Maybe she drugged him?”

“I think the bottle of wine drugged him. I mean, I never saw her slip anything into his wine.” The waitress shrugged at Nora. “She steadied him as they walked out, her hand on his back as they walked out. I see it all the time. He looked besotted by her. Any man would have been.”

“Have you seen this woman before or since?”

“No.” And that had been the answer of all Sint Pieter: No one knew this remarkably lovely woman.

The bouncer at Jake’s Tallboy, who wore a suit for the occasion of his interview, said, “I might not have let the kid in; he’d been drinking a bit too much, not loud but walking unsteadily. But no way I could keep her out. The boss would kill me. It’s a bar for people on vacation; we’re supposed to accommodate beautiful women. She thanked me for letting him in.”

“You heard her speak?”

“Yes. Slight accent, a Caribbean/British mix. Elegant. But . . .”

The pause was an opening. “Yes.”

“She gave me a cold chill. Listen, I could see she was a stunning beauty, but I’m gay. I wasn’t seduced by her charms, you understand? I looked in her eyes and there was no there there, if you know what I mean.”