She becomes a time traveler, scrolling back along Ondowsky’s feed to before the explosion happened, and at 1:46 P.M. she finds a photograph of a retro diner with a parking lot in the foreground. The neon sign in the window says WE’VE GOT HOME COOKIN’, GOOD LOOKIN’! Ondowsky’s tweet is below the picture. Just time for coffee and pie at Clauson’s before off to Eden. See my report on the World’s Largest Garage Sale on PEN tonight at 6!

Holly googles Clauson’s Diner and finds it in Pierre Village, Pennsylvania. A further check on Google (what did we ever do without it, she wonders) shows her that Pierre Village is less than fifteen miles from Pineborough and the Macready School. Which explains how he and his cameraman got there first. He was on his way to cover the World’s Largest Garage Sale in a town called Eden. A further check shows her that Eden Township is ten miles north of Pierre Village, and about the same distance from Pineborough. He just happened to be in the right place—near it, anyway—at the right time.

Besides, she’s pretty sure the local police (or maybe the investigators from ATF) have already asked both Ondowsky and Fred the cameraman about their fortuitous arrival, not because either is an actual suspect but because the authorities will be crossing every t and dotting every i in a bombing situation where there have been multiple fatalities and casualties.

Her phone is now in her handbag. She takes it out, calls Tom Toomey, and asks if it’s too late for her to come by the dealership and look at some figures. Maybe have a peek at the suspected salesman’s computer?

“Absolutely,” Toomey tells her. “But I had my face fixed for lunch at DeMasio’s. Their fettuccini alfredo’s amazing. Is that still part of the deal?”

“Absolutely,” Holly says, inwardly wincing as she thinks of the expense slip she will be filling out later—DeMasio’s isn’t cheap. As she goes out, she tells herself to think of it as penance for lying to Pete. Lies are a slippery slope, each one usually leading to two more.

3

Tom Toomey devours his fettuccini alfredo with a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, eating and slurping with abandon, and follows it up with a mixed-nut panna cotta. Holly has an antipasto and refuses dessert, settling for a cup of decaf (she eschews caffeine after 8 A.M.).

“You really should have dessert,” Toomey says. “It’s a celebration. Looks like you saved me a bundle.”

“We did,” Holly says. “The firm. Pete will get Ellis to own up and there’ll be at least some restitution. That should draw a line under it.”

“There you go! So come on,” he coaxes. Selling seems to be his default position. “Have something sweet. Treat yourself.” As if she’s the one who just got the scoop on a cheating employee.

Holly shakes her head and tells him she’s full. The fact is she wasn’t hungry when she sat down, although her oatmeal was hours ago. Her mind keeps returning to Chet Ondowsky. Her earworm.

“Watching your figure, I guess, huh?”

“Yes,” Holly says, which isn’t quite a lie; she watches her calorie intake, and her figure takes care of itself. Not that she has anyone to watch it for. Mr. Toomey should be watching his own figure, he’s digging his grave with his fork and spoon, but it isn’t her place to tell him that.

“You should bring in your lawyer and a forensic accountant if you plan to prosecute Mr. Ellis,” she says. “My figures won’t be enough in court.”

“You betcha.” Toomey concentrates on his panna cotta, demolishing what’s left, then looks up. “I don’t get it, Holly. I thought you’d be more pleased. You nailed a bad guy.”

How bad the salesman is or isn’t would depend on why he’s been chipping away money on the side, but that isn’t Holly’s business. She only gives Toomey what Bill used to call her Mona Lisa smile.

“Something else on your mind?” Toomey asks. “Another case?”

“Not at all,” Holly replies, which is also not a lie, not really; the Macready School explosion is also none of her business. She has no skin in the game, Jerome would say. But that mole that wasn’t a mole stays on her mind. Everything about Chet Ondowsky seems legit except for the thing that got her wondering about him in the first place.

There is a reasonable explanation, she thinks as she motions for the waiter to bring the check. You’re just not seeing it. Let it go.

Just let it go.

4

The office is empty when she gets back. Pete has left a note on her computer that says Rattner spotted in a bar down by the lake. On my way. Call me if you need me. Herbert Rattner is a bail-jumper with a long history of not appearing when his cases (there have been many) are called in court. Holly mentally wishes Pete luck and goes to the files, which she—and Jerome, when he gets a chance—have been digitizing. It will keep her mind off Ondowsky, she thinks, but it doesn’t. After just fifteen minutes she gives up and goes to Twitter.

Curiosity killed the cat, she thinks, but satisfaction brought him back. I’ll just check this one thing, then return to the scut work.

She finds Ondowsky’s diner tweet. Before, she was concentrating on the words. Now it’s the photograph that she studies. Silver retro diner. Cute neon sign in the window. Parking in front. The lot is only half full, and nowhere does she see the WPEN newsvan.

“They might have parked around back,” she says. Maybe true—she has no way of knowing if there are more spaces behind the diner—but why do that when there were so many available spaces in front, just a few steps from the door?

She starts to exit the tweet, then stops and bends forward until her nose is almost touching the screen. Her eyes are wide. She feels the sense of satisfaction she gets when she finally thinks of the word that’s been giving her fits in a crossword, or when she finally sees where a troublesome piece goes into a jigsaw puzzle.

She highlights Ondowsky’s diner photo and slides it to one side. Then she finds the video of the inept young reporter doing her stand-up beside the giant pine cone. The indie station’s van—older and humbler than those of the network affiliates—is parked in the turnout behind a forest green Subaru sedan. Which means the Subaru was almost certainly there first, or the positions would be reversed. Holly freezes the video and pulls the diner photo as close as she can, and yes, there’s a forest green Subaru sedan in the diner parking lot. It’s not conclusive, there are plenty of Subarus on the road, but Holly knows what she knows. It’s the same one. It’s Ondowsky’s. He parked in the turnout and then hustled to the scene.

She’s so deep in the center of her head that when her phone rings, she gives a little scream. It’s Jerome. He wants to know if she has any lost dogs for him. Or lost kids—he says he feels ready to move up to the next rung on the ladder.

“No,” she says, “but you could . . .”

She stops short of asking him if he can track down any information about a WPEN cameraman named Fred, perhaps by posing as a blogger or a magazine writer. She should be able to track down Fred herself, using her trusty computer. And there’s something else. She doesn’t want Jerome involved in this. She won’t let herself think exactly why, but the feeling is strong.