ABBY PARKED HER CAR in the driveway but stopped before getting out. There was a large bouquet of flowers on the porch.

Hmm, she thought. Not my birthday. Not a holiday. What then?

She got out with Bandit in tow and stepped up to the flowers —her favorite, a mixture of red, white, and yellow roses —and plucked the note off.

Sorry about the argument. Hope your night wasn’t too tough. Love, Ethan

She sighed and smiled. “That’s why I’m marrying you. You are the most thoughtful man on the face of the earth.” Ethan was always quick to apologize. Abby remembered that when they were kids, Ethan was always the peacemaker. He truly was even-tempered and easygoing. Abby wondered why they ever argued, and a twinge of guilt bit. Is it me? Too tired to go there, she pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated on simply enjoying Ethan’s thoughtfulness.

Heart light, she brought the flowers inside and introduced Bandit to her backyard. He didn’t seem particularly impressed. He sniffed the perimeter before scooting back to the door and yawning.

Granted, there wasn’t much to be impressed with in her backyard. While Aunt Dede was the consummate gardener, turning two acres into something close to paradise in Oregon, Abby was content with a small lawn she paid someone else to mow for her. When Dede had visited, she’d been pleased with the front yard, which was populated with pretty plants that thrived despite Abby’s lack of attention to them. But she’d called the backyard “sparse.”

Smiling, Abby stepped aside as the dog pranced back into the house. “I’m right there with you, bucko.” She opened the little bag of dog food she’d picked up on the way home and poured some into a cereal bowl.

Setting it down in front of Bandit with water in a matching bowl, she apologized. “Sorry I didn’t get you a special food bowl. Maybe this weekend.”

Bandit didn’t seem to mind as he attacked the food with gusto.

Abby’s smile faded when she picked up the phone to make the last call she planned to make before bed. She studied the card Murphy had given her for a minute. As much as she wanted to dress him down for calling the press, this call wasn’t about him; it was about the girl, Nadine. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and dialed.

Just as she was expecting to leave a voice mail message, Murphy answered.

“Detective Hart.” His breathless voice came on the line. “What can I help you with?”

Abby swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, irritated by the feeling of nervousness. “I have some information that may help you.” She told him about Destination X and the piggy-eyed manager.

Murphy was silent for a moment. “Thank you. That’s good information. Here you are in the middle of a homicide investigation, and you help me out.”

Abby flushed, glad this was a phone call and he couldn’t see. “It was just a quick stop on the way home, and it was for the girl. I hope you find her.”

“Yeah, me too. Oh, uh, by the way, I heard you arrested a suspect in the murder this morning.”

She frowned. “Did you find that out when you talked to the press about the homicide?”

“What? No, I haven’t talked to the press. Bill Roper is my best friend. He just called to tell me he was bringing a six-pack of photos by. Was my information helpful?”

Bill Roper is his friend. That’s why Murphy recognized me, Abby thought.

But if Murphy hadn’t talked to the press, who had? There was nothing to be done about it now. Mud in the tires.

“Yes, your description brought to mind a person of interest. I had a hunch and my hunch appears to be correct.”

“You make it sound as though you just got lucky. I think you know your stuff. You’re a good and conscientious detective.”

Abby squirmed, uncomfortable with his praise. “It’s my job, Mr. Murphy. I take it seriously. Good luck finding your missing girl.”

“Well, that’s my job, and I take it seriously as well. Thanks again, Detective. I hope we speak again, and when we do, it’s Luke.”

Abby ended the call and wondered at the effect just hearing the man’s voice had on her. She thought of Ethan and bent to smell the roses. Argument forgotten, the two weeks until his return would drag.

Yawning deeply, she walked into her bedroom, more than ready for a hot shower. Peeling off her clothes carefully, she inspected the bruise in the mirror. It was an ugly red-purple color now. She knew it would hurt more tomorrow and over the weekend. An image of the train bearing down on her threatened to bury her and she pushed it back. I’m fine.

“No volleyball this weekend,” she said to Bandit as she tried to make an overhand serve, grimacing as she did so. She and a mixture of friends —some she’d played with in college, some she knew from church, and one or two from work —had a standing playdate for beach volleyball on the weekends.

Abby stepped into a hot shower, grateful for the soothing heat. She stood there for a long time, letting the frustrations and the aches of the day wash away. Once finished and wrapped in a robe, she stepped to the fridge to grab some milk for her Oreo cookies, her favorite wind-down snack.

Cookies in hand, she stopped at her desk and opened the book that was her personal investigative file into the Triple Seven homicides. The first page was a photocopy of the front page of the newspaper the day after the fire.

Suspicious, Horrific Fire Claims Popular Restaurant and Personable Owners

The murderous details came out later, but this page was Abby’s curious favorite. The picture under the headline was of her, looking lost, held snugly in Woody’s arms against a backdrop of smoke and emergency vehicles. The expression on Woody’s face said he’d protect her to the death. Abby’s tousled hair fell over one side of her face, and her right hand gripped his uniform collar. She often stared at the photo and tried to remember that day, tried to see back into that forlorn girl’s mind, but she couldn’t. The only memories she had came to her from what she had read —generalities about what it was like at her parents’ restaurant back then. Her own memories were fragmented, and she didn’t know what was real and what was imagined.

Everything changed for her that day. Like the victims she dealt with today, nothing could be put back the way it was. But something inside screamed that she be able to say that the killers had paid. A part of me will always be that lost little girl until that day.

She closed the book and settled into her reading chair, a big overstuffed leather chair with a large ottoman, exhausted but unable to shut down. It was early, only four thirty, but she was beat.

Munching Oreos dunked in milk and being in her home office calmed her and erased the bad parts of the day. Three walls were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the shelves were about 75 percent full. Against the only wall with a window was her desk. But it was the books that calmed her, entertained her, and kept her sane. When Dede had finally entered the picture and brought her home, adopted her, and became her family, the Bible became the most important book in the mix. It rested on the arm of her chair, and she put her milk down to pick it up and open it to the fourth chapter of Hebrews.

What was the last passage you read, Cora?

Abby’s translation titled the chapter “The Promise of Rest.” I hope you entered God’s rest, Cora, she thought. Verses 12 and 13 were well known to Abby; they were memory verses. Verse 12 she’d learned in Sunday school: “For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”

And verse 13 she knew by heart. Both Ethan and Dede used her love of the verse to convince her it was folly to get wrapped up in the twenty-seven-year-old cold case.

“Trust God with your parents’ killers,” Ethan had said. “He knows where they are. They aren’t getting away with anything.”

“Abby, I lost a sister I barely knew . . . and over what? I don’t know. Don’t put yourself in danger. Your motto is God’s promise: they might run, but they can’t hide.”

Abby closed the Bible and set it on the arm of the chair again. She chewed on a thumbnail, feeling agitated all of a sudden.

I do trust God.

But I want the killers caught now.

Are the two things mutually exclusive?

Fifteen years ago, when she came back to Long Beach, she was ready to kick down doors. She let Woody and Asa convince her it was wiser to wait. But their wait turned into never.

I’m done waiting.

Bandit startled her when he jumped into her lap. Unperturbed by her momentary jitter, he curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. She finished the cookies, drained the milk, and ran her hand over the warm, hairy body. She found the feeling of his soft fur comforting.

Hate to say it, but I want to keep this dog. With that thought, Abby closed her eyes and let exhaustion take over.