“You spoke to Olivia earlier in the week?” Morgan prompted.

“Yes.” Kim nodded. “I called her.”

“Can you tell us what you discussed?” Lance leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs.

“I don’t know.” Kim hesitated. “I shouldn’t discuss Olivia’s business without her permission.”

“We would love to have Olivia’s permission too,” Morgan agreed. “But she’s been missing for more than two days now. She didn’t show up to take her mother to the doctor on Friday.”

Kim’s eyes widened, and she sat back. “That’s not like Olivia.”

“Her family is worried,” Morgan pressed.

Kim nodded. “I’ll tell you in general terms, which is all I know anyway. We talked about her next book—more specifically, her next book proposal. Her editor wanted it weeks ago.”

“But you don’t know what she’s going to write about?” Lance’s clasped hands fell between his knees.

“No.” The agent hesitated again. “Other than she was focusing on several crimes committed in upstate New York, she wouldn’t give me any specifics about which cases she was considering. And believe me, I pressed. Her editor has been calling me daily.”

“Her editor was pressuring her?” Morgan asked.

“Yes. The publisher bought her first manuscript at auction. They paid a lot for it. They want to get her next title into their lineup for the following year, but in order to do that, they need a proposal from Olivia. Ideally, they’d have her second book available for preorder when her first is released.” The agent exhaled hard. “I’m afraid I’ve been applying pressure too. A film studio has expressed interest in her first book. They talked about a movie or a true crime miniseries, something along the lines of Making a Murderer. I want to get Olivia a film deal and a nice fat advance on a second book while the market is still hot for her. It’s possible her first book won’t even be a bestseller. It won’t release for another eighteen months. A lot can happen between now and then. The market changes every day.”

“You think she was stressed?” Lance asked.

“I do,” Kim said. “She even told me she’d stopped responding to her editor’s emails. She couldn’t deal with him anymore. I told him to give her some space, but he refused. I know she’s thorough with her work. Olivia doesn’t half ass anything. It can be frustrating because I’m trying to do right by her career, but at the same time, I have to respect her professionalism, which is exactly what I told Jake Riley.”

“Do you know why she wouldn’t share her research with you or her editor?”

“No, but she promised I’d have a proposal next week.”

“Her calendar says you’re meeting tomorrow at a restaurant in Redhaven,” Morgan said. “That’s a long drive for you just to have lunch.”

Kim smiled. “My parents still live in Redhaven. I usually stop and see them before I meet with Olivia.”

“Do you see them often?” Morgan asked.

Kim frowned. “I drive up at least every other week. I tried to move them closer to me after Dad’s stroke. I got them into a senior community, but my father will not leave Redhaven. Olivia has the same issues with her parents. She stressed about her mother’s blood pressure. Her mom was very upset over Olivia’s sister’s separation. I understood because my mother freaked out about mine. We’ve been separated for two months, and when I talk to her, that’s all I hear.” She paused, picking at her cuticle. “Olivia would never have missed that appointment.”

“We’re lucky,” Morgan said. “My grandfather lives with us. It makes it easier. Plus, one of my sisters is nearby. Do you have any siblings to help you?”

Kim shook her head. “My brother helps as much as he can.”

“Support is important.” Morgan thought about support. “Is Olivia close to any other authors? Anyone she might have discussed her book research with?”

“Not that I know of.” Kim frowned. “I get the impression she’s a loner. I offered to take her to publishing parties, but she always declined. She told me she’d rather go home, put on pajamas, and have a cup of tea.”

Which was Morgan’s idea of a perfect evening.

“Do you know where her editor would be today?” Lance asked. “We’d like to speak with him.”

“I usually reach him by cell phone. He’s been working from home a few days a week. He mentioned some sort of family emergency last time I talked with him.” She picked up her cell phone from the black coffee table. “Do you have his number?”

“I think so.” Morgan checked her own phone and read the last few digits of the number they’d taken from Olivia’s contact list.

“That’s it.” Kim lowered her phone and stood. “Please let me know if you find her, or if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“We will.” Morgan gathered her tote and got to her feet.

She and Lance thanked Kim and left her apartment.

Outside, they walked back to the garage where they’d left the Jeep. Lance handed the parking attendant their ticket, and the man disappeared inside.

“So Olivia’s editor and agent were both hounding her for her book proposal,” Lance said as they waited.

“Yes.” Inside the garage was colder than the street. Morgan shivered. “Kim looked upset.”

“She said she’d been sick.”

“That would explain her dark circles,” Morgan agreed. “But her nails were bitten to the quick, and she was picking at them when she admitted pressuring Olivia.”

“Maybe she regrets giving Olivia a hard time.”

Once they were in the vehicle, Lance turned the heater on full and aimed the vents at her.

Morgan pulled out her notepad. She wrote a few notes on the interview with Holgersen, then moved on to scan the editor’s background report. “Olivia’s editor, Jake Riley, is thirty-four. He was born in New York, went to college in New York, and currently lives in Brooklyn.” She plugged the address into the GPS for directions.

It took thirty-five minutes to drive the nine miles through Lower Manhattan and over the Brooklyn Bridge. On the other side, Lance cut off a taxi with a feral smile, then continued onto Middagh Street into Brooklyn Heights.

Morgan pointed to an upcoming intersection. “There’s the street on the left.”

Lance turned left and slowed down in front of an old brownstone. “Keep your eyes open for a parking spot.”

They drove around three blocks, like a shark circling for prey, before Morgan spotted a space. Lance parallel parked the Jeep, practically kissing the bumper of a MINI Cooper.

They walked back to the brownstone, and Lance led the way up the stone steps to the front stoop. He pulled on the handle of the double doors, but they were locked. Morgan shaded her eyes and peered through the glass panes. The building had a tiny foyer with a staircase running up one side. The paint was peeling, and the dark stain of the wooden steps and banister was worn through.

“It’s a walk-up.” She saw a resident carrying what looked like a racing bike down the steps. He wore an aerodynamic helmet and skintight cycling clothes. She backed up to scan the call buttons next to the door. There were eight apartments listed, two per floor. Morgan pressed the button for 4-B.