‘Hello,’ he called. There was no answer. He tried again. ‘Anybody home?’

Still no answer. He headed for Casey’s room. She should have been here by now.

She was. Sitting on her bed, back resting against the headboard, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince propped on her knees. Ear buds in her ears. He studied her face, serious and intent on the story.

‘Haven’t you read that before?’ he shouted to be heard over the music.

‘I’m reading it again,’ she said. Her eyes remained glued to the book.

‘Can I come in and maybe get a “hello, I missed you, and I’m glad to see you” kiss?’

‘In a minute . . . just let me finish this chapter. Just another . . .’ She flipped the pages. ‘Three more pages.’

‘Oh no!’ He threw a hand over his heart, ‘Rejected again.’

Apparently she didn’t find that funny, ’cause she didn’t laugh. ‘Just a couple of minutes, okay?’ she said.

‘Okay.’ He went to the kitchen and poured a couple of inches of the Macallan into the cut crystal glass, came back to her room, and eased himself down onto the dark wood floor, resting his back against the door of her closet. He sipped the Scotch and studied her face. She was growing up fast, starting to look even more like Sandy than she had as a little girl. A lot more, he realized now, than Lainie Goff ever had. She had the same mouth and nose. The same silky dark hair. The same startling blue eyes. The same perfect skin. Fourteen years old and not even the trace of a zit. She was facing the blessing and the curse of being a drop-dead beautiful woman. Just like Sandy. But, thank God, that’s where the resemblance ended.

Inside, Casey was totally different. She was bright and funny and giving in a way that Sandy never was, and she had a silly sense of humor that was totally a McCabe gene. She’d taken the best of both her parents. There was going to be no stopping this kid.

‘There,’ she said, marking her place and closing the book. She got up and walked to where he was sitting, opened her arms wide, closed her eyes, and squeezed her lips in an exaggerated pucker. ‘Get up,’ she said. ‘You may welcome me home.’

‘Not sure I want to now,’ he said, looking up. ‘You blew your chances.’ He took another sip of his Scotch.

‘Well, then pooh on you.’ She turned away and headed for the kitchen. ‘By the way, there’s nothing to eat,’ she called back. ‘Just a dead lasagna that looks like it’s been in the microwave since before I was born.’

He got up and followed. ‘Hey!’ he called after her.

‘Hey, what.’

‘Hey, pooh on you, too,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her slender body. They gave each other a long, hard squeeze.

‘Kyra’s picking up some food,’ he said, releasing her. ‘She’ll be here in an hour.’

She flopped down on the couch. He sat in Dad’s chair.

‘How was the boarding?’

‘Awesome except for the tow lines. We got a ton of snow Friday night.’

‘I heard.’

‘Saturday and today were both gorgeous. You and Kyra should have come. You would have loved it.’

‘I’m sure. How was your report card?’

‘Good.’

‘Can I see it?’

‘Sure.’ She went back to her room and returned with the card. Four As and one B. He wanted to ask her about going away to school without biasing her by telling her it was Sandy’s idea. He didn’t think it would be anything she’d want to do. Still, he needed to be sure.

‘Have you thought any more about where you want to go to college?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Orono, I guess. Or maybe USM. Then I could live at home.’

‘How about Harvard? Or Yale?’

‘Yeah, right,’ she snorted. ‘Nobody gets in there.’

‘Somebody must. They have a whole bunch of students at both places. Grades like these, you could be one of them.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘You could if you went to a good boarding school first.’

‘Boarding school?’ She looked at him as if he’d suggested taking classes on Mars. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘Just a thought.’

‘Not a very good one. I don’t want to go to boarding school. We can’t afford it, anyway. You’re always saying you can’t even pay the bills we already have.’

‘They have scholarships,’ he said. ‘You might get one.’ If she decided she did want to go away to school, there was no way he’d let Peter Ingram pay for it. She was his daughter. Not Ingram’s.

Her eyes narrowed. Her version of his Clint Eastwood squint. ‘I don’t want to go to boarding school, and I don’t know why you’re even bringing it up. You sound like you want to get rid of me or something. Like Mom did.’

He went over and sat near her on the edge of the couch. ‘No, I don’t want to get rid of you, and no, I don’t want you to go to boarding school. In fact, I’d hate it if you weren’t here.’

‘Then what’d you bring it up for?’

‘It’s something your mother suggested, and I just needed to be sure it wasn’t something you wanted to do before I told her no way.’

‘No way.’

‘Okay. Good. No way it is, then.’

‘Besides, like I told you before, I want to be a cop. Like you.’

The family business. He smiled to himself. Would it suck in yet another generation of McCabes? It hadn’t missed a single one since his great-grandfather joined the force in New York back in the 1890s. How long could they keep the string going? How long did they want to?

‘I don’t think I need to go to Harvard to do that.’

‘No, but you do need to go to college before you decide.’

‘Orono’s fine.’

‘It’s better than fine. It’s a good school.’

He hugged her again. They heard the front door open and close. Kyra appeared carrying a bag of groceries. ‘Hello. Could I have one, too? A hug, I mean?’

He took the shopping bag and put it on the floor and wrapped his arms around both his women. ‘Welcome home,’ he said.

‘It’s good to be home,’ said Kyra. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ll be leaving again.’

‘Not even if I have another murder?’

‘Not even.’

He looked in the bags. ‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked.

‘Chicken Saltimbocca,’ she said. ‘Sautéed chicken breasts topped with prosciutto and melted mozzarella cheese in a butter and wine sauce.’ Kyra was at least as good a cook as she was an artist. Whatever she made would be delicious. ‘I’ll start it now.’

‘I’ll help you,’ said Casey. ‘Okay?’

Kyra looked surprised. ‘Okay.’ She’d never asked before. ‘Of course.’

McCabe poured Kyra a glass of Sancerre, then hauled himself up on the kitchen stool, sipped his Scotch, and watched them work.

A couple of minutes later, the doorbell rang. He debated whether or not to answer it, but then it rang again, and so he did. John Kelly was on the other side.

‘Hello, John.’

‘I stopped by police headquarters. Detective Savage told me I’d find you here.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘I saw the pictures.’

‘I’m sorry we had to put you through that.’

‘Yes. Me, too. Her name was Kimberly Watkins. She was one of Lainie’s girls. She disappeared from Sanctuary House just before Christmas.’

‘You didn’t report it?’

‘No. I didn’t think much of it. Kids take off all the time. She’s from a town called Mapleton up near Presque Isle. I thought maybe she went back for the holidays. Even the runaways get sentimental sometimes.’

‘Well, maybe she did.’

‘Yeah, maybe. But I doubt it. So do you.’

McCabe nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Anyway, what can I do for you?’

‘Nothing really. I just wanted to thank you.’

Thank him? McCabe had spent over an hour verbally beating this guy over the head and he wanted to thank him. ‘Thank me? For what exactly?’

‘For digging deeper. For not accepting the easy answers. From me or anyone else. For stopping that bastard.’

McCabe shrugged. ‘It’s my job. I do it the best I can.’

‘A lot of cops wouldn’t have bothered. You did. I wanted to thank you for that.’

‘You’re welcome. Would you like to come in? Join me for a Scotch?’