Charlie could see from Kaminsky’s face that her emotions where Crane was concerned were all over the place.

“He’s obviously attracted to you,” Charlie said softly. In response, Kaminsky’s eyes showed the first sign of vulnerability that Charlie had ever seen her exhibit. Then her lips pursed tightly together and she frowned.

“I don’t want to—”

“Care for breakfast, ladies?”

Kaminsky broke off what she’d been saying as Crane emerged from the kitchen to toss them both a protein bar. Catching hers, Kaminsky immediately shot Charlie, who had caught hers, too, a drop-the-subject-or-die look. “We can grab coffee over at the RV. Bartoli’s already there, hard at work.”

After that, the day got busy. With Kaminsky researching Kornucopia and its associates at an adjacent desk, and having confirmed first thing that Trevor Mead’s cousin Cory’s age was twenty-six, Charlie sat in front of one of the oversized monitors in the War Room going over images of the crowd at the previous night’s dance. Facial recognition software had zeroed in on nineteen faces that met the broad criteria of the sketches and descriptions, but none of those identified struck a chord of recognition with Charlie. Crane was busy checking out those individuals and comparing them with the parameters they’d established. Charlie’s job in reviewing the previous night’s footage was to look for body language that didn’t fit the environment.

“So, you catch anybody scratching his nose inappropriately yet?” Kaminsky asked. Charlie had been so keyed in to what she was doing, she hadn’t realized the other woman had come to stand behind her.

Charlie glanced over her shoulder. “Body language is much harder to fake than facial expressions. Most people aren’t aware of how much their bodies reveal, and don’t try to police it.”

“I see what you mean.” Kaminsky reached around Charlie to tap the monitor. The central image, the one that Charlie hadn’t been looking at because it was her job to concentrate on the crowd, was her and Tony dancing. “I don’t know what Bartoli’s saying to you, but you’re sure blowing hot and cold on him. Look at that. First you’re making bedroom eyes at him, and the next second you look like you want to rip his throat out.”

The sequence they were watching was the one where Garland had shown up and inserted himself into the dance. Of course, there was no sign of Garland on the monitor. Watching, Charlie had to admit her reactions looked more than slightly schizophrenic.

“You know, I’m no psychiatrist, but from watching you two together like that, my analysis would be that your feelings for the boss are romantic, but highly conflicted.” There was way too much suppressed glee in Kaminsky’s tone. “Would that be one of your classic signs of attraction, Dr. Stone?”

Careful to keep the frown that wanted to snap her brows together at bay, Charlie rolled the cursor over a (okay, random) male face in the crowd so it was immediately enlarged enough to cover most of the image of her and Bartoli dancing.

“You get anything?” Tony’s voice behind them was so unexpected that it almost made Charlie jump. Glancing around at him, glad to be saved from the necessity to reply to Kaminsky, she shook her head.

Kaminsky said, “The bad news is, Kornucopia hasn’t played in any venues this summer within easy driving distance of the Breyer or Clark homes.”

If the two families who had been slaughtered prior to the attack on the Meads had no connection to the band, then there had to be something else there, Charlie thought. She let the computer go into sleep mode (the last thing she wanted was for Tony to start studying the image of the two of them dancing) and turned around in her chair to face the others.

“You say that like there’s some good news,” Tony replied before she could comment, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his eyebrows at Kaminsky. He was once again in agent mode, in a dark suit, white shirt, and power tie, and Charlie was once again conscious of how perfect he seemed to be for her. One day, maybe, she might actually get a chance to explore the possibilities where he was concerned, but for now he had murders to solve and a missing girl to find and she, too, was preoccupied with those matters, along with—other things.

Like a possibly missing ghost.

Breaking into a wide smile, Kaminsky nodded. “Two members of Kornucopia also play in another regional band, the Sock Monkeys. It performed within twenty miles of the Breyer and Clark residences. Both the week before each family was attacked.”

Tony’s arms dropped to his sides. His eyes instantly looked as refreshed as if he had just chugged twenty cups of coffee. “Good job, Kaminsky. Which two?”

“Axel Gundren and Ben Teague.” Kaminsky walked to her computer, bent over, typed in a couple of commands, and the faces of two young men popped up. The photos appeared to be taken from their driver’s licenses, and they showed that Axel had a shock of near-white hair and blue eyes, while Ben had a biscuit-colored, Justin Bieber–style bowl cut. Both faces could have been considered long and thin, which would match Trevor Mead’s description of the killer. “Ages twenty-five and twenty-six.”

Kaminsky glanced over her shoulder at Tony, who nodded. Then she typed in something else and stood back as what looked like a Venn diagram filled the screen. The three overlapping circles contained dozens of names, with dozens more lining the screen on the outside of the circles. “Both are approximately the right age, height, and weight.” She tapped a portion of the diagram with a well-manicured forefinger. “That puts them here. We know they were at the Sanderling on the same night as Bayley Evans, so that also puts them here.” She tapped a smaller portion of the Venn diagram. “Axel has a juvenile record—for drug possession, which I’m not sure is really relevant, but it puts him here as well.” Another tap. “Unfortunately, except for that, neither has any of Dr. Stone’s markers. Axel lives in the basement of his parents’ house in Greenville. Ben lives in an apartment in the same town. Both have multiple siblings. Neither owns or has access to a gray Avalon, as far as I can tell. According to their cell phone records, neither was anywhere near Bayley Evans’ house on the night of the murders.”

“So it’s looking like neither one is our guy,” Tony summed up flatly. The sudden flare of interest had gone out of his eyes.

“That’s pretty much it,” Kaminsky agreed. She tapped the center of the circles of the Venn diagram, a tiny area that was the only place on the screen empty of any names. “Anyone who fits all the criteria we’ve established will end up here. When we get a name there, he’s going to be our guy.”

“Keep working on it, Kaminsky,” Tony said.

Kaminsky nodded.

Tony looked at Charlie. “I want you to help me interview the five girls who went to the Sanderling with Bayley Evans last week.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Didn’t we already talk to them?” Kaminsky asked as Charlie obediently stood up.

Tony nodded. “Yes, but the four of them here on vacation are heading back home to Winston-Salem tomorrow. The Meads are from Winston-Salem, too, and the funeral for the parents and the little boy is scheduled for Monday, so I’m guessing the girls and their families want to be there for that. I want to talk to them again before they go.”

“You really think you’ll get some new information out of them?” Kaminsky asked.

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. At the time of the previous interview I didn’t realize the significance of that dance. I want to talk to them again with that in mind, and I want Charlie with me to see if she can pick up on anything I might be missing.” Charlie caught the slightly surprised look Kaminsky cast her way upon hearing Tony call her by her first name, but of course the other woman didn’t comment out loud in his presence. That, Charlie judged, would come in the nature of a zinger later. “Meanwhile, find out if there are any other people the two bands have in common—support staff, maybe an agent or a manager, anything that might tie them together, would you?”