A storm in his eyes. “Don’t believe everything you hear in the media.”

Silence.

“There’s another thing,” she said into the heavy weight of it. “Miriama’s currently the center of attention of the entire town. How would that fit in with Kyle’s pathology, if he is a psychopath?”

Will leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table in an echo of her position. He nodded slowly. “That’s a good point. Kyle really doesn’t like being anything but the center of attention. If he did this, he miscalculated how many people care about ­her—­maybe in his mind, she’d just be forgotten, shrugged off.”

Shadows grim across his face. “The only way Kyle can take back the spotlight is if he’s the one to find Miriama. If he did something to her, even if it started out as a cruel prank, it’s gone too far. He can’t find her alive now and still get away with it.”

“Jesus.” Anahera shoved a hand through her hair and, instead of reaching for the wine, got up and poured herself a mug of coffee. Bringing over the teakettle, she topped up Will’s mug as well, then put the teakettle on the table between them and retook her seat. “Are we seriously considering the possibility that Miriama is dead?”

“No. Until I see a body, she’s alive. Hurt, perhaps badly, but not dead.” He leaned back in his seat. “And Kyle’s not the only person I have on my radar.”

When he didn’t say anything further, Anahera raised both eyebrows. “You’re not going to go all ‘this is confidential police business’ on me now, are you?”

“You’re a stranger I barely know,” he replied in the mild tone she’d warned him against using on her.

This time, she thought it was deliberate, meant to irritate.

Leaning back in her own chair, she took a sip of coffee before responding in a tone exactly as mild. “Shall I tell you what I heard this afternoon?” Then, as he listened, she went through her list of points. Of how most people had talked about continuing the search, but how she had the feeling everyone thought Miriama was gone. “Kyle said something about her maybe having been taken by the sea. He posed it as a question, kind of hesitant, unsure.”

“That’s what he said to me, ­too—­only he wasn’t uncertain or hesitant.” Will placed his mug on the table. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

The chill yet in her blood, Anahera blew out a quiet breath. “ ‘Interesting’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Did anyone mention the three hikers who disappeared fifteen years ago?”

Anahera frowned. “­Yes—­Tom brought it up, thought we should let you know.” She had to push past her continued dislike of sharing information about her friends to say that. “Nikau figured you must already have the details.” She held Will’s eyes. “Kyle would’ve been way too young back then.”

“I’m not sure if Kyle has ever gotten his hands really dirty, though I think he’s fully capable of it,” was the quietly controlled response. “But we can’t allow him to twist the focus onto ­himself—­he probably said half the things he said to me today for exactly that reason. To manipulate the spotlight.”

“I also met Vincent’s wife.” Anahera replayed those moments inside her mind. “Doesn’t reflect well on me, but I didn’t expect to see her there. I’d just filed her in the ‘rich ladies who do lunch and attend fancy charity events’ category.”

“Why did you have that impression?” Will asked softly, the mildness in his voice replaced by humming interest. “Have you ever met her before?”

Anahera shook her head. “I couldn’t make it to their ­wedding—­that was when the big volcano erupted and grounded flights.” Even though the wedding hadn’t been held in the Cove, she’d been ambivalent about coming back, not yet far enough from the past to return to it.

“I remember. You didn’t see Jemima Baker at Josie’s wedding?”

Of course he’d assume she’d have returned for her best friend’s wedding. “No, my wedding bad luck continued with Josie. I had an accident, ended up on bed rest for a while.” The lie was so easy to tell now. At first, Anahera hadn’t been able to bear talking about how she’d bled out her dreams on the unforgiving cold of an Italian marble floor, then later, she hadn’t been able to bear the pity. So she’d just kept on with the lie and Edward had never disputed her choice.

He’d just gone and gotten what he wanted from another woman.

Four years.

That’s what the wailing woman had said.

She and Edward had been together for four years.

“So if you’d never met Jemima, why did you have that impression of her?” Will prompted again. “Think carefully.”

Frowning, Anahera tried to track back through the years. “Before today, the only things I knew about Jemima came from others.”

“Josie?”

“She said once that Jemima didn’t seem interested in attending town events. Nothing malicious, just a passing observation during a phone call.” Anahera had used to curl up in a window seat during Josie’s calls, her view of the street below, but her heart in a misty, green land far from London.

Josie’s voice had been a song of home. And a memory of pain.

“She and Tom had just bought their own place and the renovations pretty much consumed her ­life—­we’d talk about paint, about wallpaper, about rugs, even about the best tapware for the kitchen.” Anahera’s lips curved. “A family of her own and Tom, that’s all Josie’s ever wanted.”

“Is that what shaped your perception of Jemima?”

“No. Like I said, Josie was cheerfully obsessed with Tom and their new ­home—­they’d only been married a couple of months then.” Less than a year later, Josie’s obsession had switched to her first pregnancy.

It had been raining the day she woke Anahera up with the news, her joy incandescent. Anahera had been alone, Edward on one of his business ­trips—­even with all his success as a playwright, he’d continued to put in time at the family firm. The devoted son. Upright and steadfast. That day, Anahera had lain in her bed watching the rain create trails down the windows, and she’d listened to her friend bubble on about the new life growing in her womb.

Afterward, she’d gone to the bathroom and thrown up until her throat was raw.

“Josie and Tom got married less than a year after Vincent and Jemima.” One a large society wedding, the other a cozy local affair, yet Vincent and Josie had shared many guests. Josie had been ecstatic when Vincent chartered a plane to fly his Golden Cove friends up to Auckland for his fancy do.

“I think if Josie hadn’t been so involved in planning her own wedding when Jemima first came to Golden Cove, she’d probably have made an effort to draw her out, take the initiative in starting a friendship.” That was how Anahera and Josie had first become friends. Josie had literally run over to Anahera while Anahera was in the supermarket with her mother, and taken her hand.

They’d been three years old at the time.

“When Josie mentioned Jemima being standoffish,” Anahera continued, “I figured maybe Jemima didn’t feel comfortable coming into town because everyone was friends with Vincent and they all knew one another. I felt that way in London for a while.”