Liv mouthed thank you as they left the room. It was then she saw the sadness in her sister’s eyes. Cindy had their father’s face, but Liv had his heart. She pulled a chair from the dining table and positioned it next to the recliner. They watched the muted television, a sports channel, for a long while. Her father held her hand, intermittently turning to her and smiling.

Unexpectedly, he blurted, “Where’s Eddie Haskell?”

It was her father’s nickname for Noah Brawn, Liv’s high school boyfriend and the soon-to-be governor. Haskell was a character from an old television show known for his insincere flattery and sneakiness. The nickname wasn’t meant as an insult. Just a recognition that Noah—with his politician’s charm, even as a teenager—wasn’t fooling her dad.

Liv was about to explain that she was married to Evan, but her father’s thousand-yard stare had returned. He was like a time traveler, jumping from year to year, place to place, the timeline scrambled along the way.

Liv’s mind did its own time travel. She was home on a break from Northwestern and had a dilemma. There was a boy, someone new—a decision to be made. She’d dated Noah throughout high school, but they attended different colleges. At first they’d stayed close—speaking every night on the phone, spending breaks together. But predictably, they started drifting.

And then Liv met Evan.

“What should I do, Daddy?”

“Who treats you better?”

“They both treat me well.”

“What do your heart and mind tell you?”

“Mind says Noah. He’s driven, wants to be governor someday, maybe even run for president. I know with him I’ll have a bigger life.”

“And your heart?”

Liv smiled, thinking of Evan. “I can’t explain it, but when he’s near me, I feel more at ease than anytime in my life. And he’s willing to come back to Adair like I want. He said he doesn’t care about Chicago or his career; he just wants to be with me. Have a family, make a life.”

Her father rubbed his chin. “I can’t make this decision for you, Olive Oyl.”

“What would Mom tell me to do?”

Her father gave a fleeting smile. “She’d probably tell you to go for the boy who wants to be part of your story, not just you being part of his.”

The grunt of a snore interrupted her thoughts. Her father’s head drooped to his chest.

Cindy popped her head in. “Tommy’s playing with the dogs. The staff said they could watch him for a few while we talk to the director.”

Liv softly removed her hand from her father’s and stood. She kissed him on his head. “Let’s get this over with.”

CHAPTER 22

The director of Twilight Meadows smiled at Liv and gestured for her to take a seat. Dennis Chang wore khakis and a Mister Rogers sweater. His desk was paperless, the office spotless, the domain of a perfectionist. Cindy didn’t say anything, just plopped down in the seat next to Liv’s.

“Mrs. Pine, thank you for meeting with me.”

“Call me Liv,” she said, trying to build rapport. If she couldn’t convince this man to let her father remain at the home, it would be a disaster.

“Liv,” Chang said. He took a breath. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

Liv nodded. She didn’t recall any Asian families back when she was in school. Nebraska wasn’t a cultural melting pot. But Adair was more diverse than most areas. Adair Irrigation attracted people from all over the country, luring executives with high pay and a cheap cost of living, the promise of an idyllic Mayberry existence for their kids. Even after moving away, the company was a mainstay in the Pines’ lives—Evan’s main client at his accounting firm was Adair Irrigation. Her father’s best friend from high school had been a vice president and had stuck by Evan even after he’d transferred to the Chicago office.

“I really hope we can work something out,” Liv said. “My father was a pillar of this community. He raised a family here, like his father. He worked at the plant for forty years, coached high school football. And he’s a kind, sweet man. He just—”

Chang held up a hand, not aggressively. Just an assuring gesture that she didn’t have to go on. That he knew all this. “No one is questioning your father’s character or the many, many contributions he’s made to this community. It’s just that, given his condition, I’m not sure we have the ability to give him the care he needs and deserves.”

Liv felt her eyes welling up. Perhaps it was seeing her father, being back in this town, but her emotions were raw. “Is there anything we can do? Maybe we could arrange to have an extra caregiver check on him periodically. Or maybe we can talk to his doctor about his meds. I saw him today. He was a bit confused, but—”

She turned to Cindy for backup. But her sister just sat silently, something resembling a scowl on her face.

Liv added, “He’s lived in Adair his whole life. And the other facilities are so far away, and…” She didn’t finish the sentence, noticing that Chang was about to say something.

“As your sister may have mentioned to you, we’ve been talking about possible solutions,” Chang said.

Liv looked at Cindy, who remained quiet.

“Here’s the thing,” Chang said, leaning forward. “My company has been trying to open several other facilities around the state, and we’ve been having licensing issues. One of our competitors has been raising baseless complaints. Not about resident care,” he added quickly. “But that we’re unfairly undercutting on price and trying to run other facilities out of business.”

Liv wasn’t sure where this was heading.

“Governor Turner wasn’t receptive, but the lieutenant governor—an Adair native, as you know—was always willing to at least hear us out. But his hands were tied.” Chang shifted in his chair. “You may have heard that—”

“That Noah Brawn will take over for Turner,” Liv said, finishing his sentence. And there was the rub.

Chang nodded. “I understand you were high school friends, and you may hold some sway with Brawn.…”

Liv’s hard stare returned to her sister, who didn’t look back at her. Then, against her better judgment, Liv said, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

CHAPTER 23

SARAH KELLER

Even in the late afternoon, the State Department lobby was bustling. Men and women in business suits stood in line to check in at the long security desk stationed at the center of the atrium. Flags from around the world lined the perimeter. Keller thought she saw a national news correspondent, blond hair and big sunglasses, walking out of the building with an entourage.

After checking in, Keller and Stan were whisked up to the fifth floor. Unlike the modern glass-and-steel lobby, it had the feel of an old-time country club. Lots of portraits, heavy rugs, dark wood. Before they entered the back offices, a woman at yet another reception desk gave them a small key with a plastic fob engraved with a number. The receptionist directed them to a wooden cabinet that had tiny numbered drawers with keyholes. “Please store your phones in there,” the receptionist said. They didn’t need to check their firearms. Just the real security threat: their cell phones.

Brian Cook was another tall man. Sweet mother, Keller thought. But unlike the beefy FBI deputy director, Cook was thin and athletic, with a Midwesterner’s affability.

Following quick introductions, Stan said, “Thanks for fitting us in on short notice.”

“No worries,” Cook said, directing them to a worktable. His office was small for someone so high up at the State Department, Keller thought.

“DeMartini says you need help with one of our consulates?”

Keller briefed him on the death of the Pines.

“I haven’t watched the documentary,” Cook said, “but I saw the piece in the Times. What a tragedy. Such a handsome family. I understand our people aren’t giving you what you need?”

“I’m sure they have heavy caseloads, but we’re having issues with the consulate assigned to that area,” Keller said, charitably. “Matt Pine, the surviving son, is in Mexico. A consular officer was supposed to meet him at the airport to take him to Tulum to get the bodies released, but the consulate rep never showed. And he’s not returning my messages.”

“What consulate office is Tulum?” Cook said, more to himself than to Keller and Stan. Still sitting, he wheeled his chair to his desk and tapped on his computer. He squinted at the monitor. “It’s in Mérida. That’s a pretty cush gig. Cancún, Cozumel, Playa del Carmen, Tulum. What’s the consular officer’s name?”

“Gilbert Foster,” Keller said, feeling almost guilty—almost—that Mr. Foster was about to have a very bad day.

“Let me make some calls. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You need us to step out?” Stan said, gesturing to the door.

“No need. I’ll be right back.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Keller and Stan talked about Keller’s meeting tomorrow morning with Marconi LLP. She wasn’t thrilled about making the first approach without adequate prep. Strong investigations and interrogations required planning. It was not a seat-of-the-pants endeavor.

Stan listened patiently, nodded sympathetically, and said, “I get it. But it is what it is,” one of his favorite expressions.