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“He paid for food. I saw him in the parking lot. After that, I don’t know,” she said with a worried look in my direction. “Is Mr. Sinclair okay?”

The concern was sincere.

“If you remember anything else, call me, please.” I handed my business card to her. “That’s my number.”

Enzo and I were almost at the door when the cashier came running with an older man on her heels.

“This is Samuel. He’s one of the guards. He said he saw him with a woman.”

Samuel rubbed his beard. “They were talking. He was smiling when they went to her van. It was a white van. There was mud on its side.”

Kurt’s van.

Yes. Everything is falling into place.

“We’ll leave the car here for now and come back for it later,” I said to the cashier, locking Ryden’s car.

“Of course, I’ll keep an eye on it. Don’t worry.”

After thanking them, we walked to my car.

“Now it’s just you and me, and I need you to think hard,” I said, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. Enzo’s eyes gleaming with determination. “What else do you know about Trish?”

“She’s from Ohio. Adams… that’s her last name. Maybe it’s not real.” Enzo followed me to my car. “You still suspect her?”

“I don’t know. Did you see her at home in the morning?”

“She was in her room. I heard her talking on the phone with someone about art.”

“Did you see her?”

“No.”

“Let’s go back to the funeral home.”

I parked the car in front of the funeral home.

Trish walked toward us, her steps hesitant. She kept tugging at her sleeves, looking over her shoulder.

She stopped in front of the car.

“I—I came here looking for you,” she said to Enzo, staring at him warily. “You left. Did you find anything about Irene?”

He shook his head.

“Ryd—Ryden was gone,” Enzo said. Trish’s eyes widened.

My stomach tightened.

“The Strangler?” Her breathing hitched, and her eyes filled with tears. “Why’s he doing this?”

It was almost… clean. Neat. The fear, the tears, the trembling breath. Too much of everything, yet somehow not enough. Emotions were rarely this convenient, this perfectly timed.

I stared. If she was Patty, she was so fucking good at playing the innocent victim.

“Because this is personal.” She jerked. I had never told her anything more than she should know, but now was not the time to be careful about it. “She hates me. Or she says she loves me.”

She blinked. Perfectly shocked.