"Why would she do that?" he asks.
I line up the toothpaste and toothbrush I bought, along with a new brush, ponytail holders, and a small assortment of makeup. It's a whole new morning factory-sealed and ready for action.
"To give herself options. There's no clear indication that she's dead. Her car hasn't been found. No blood. No ransom note. Nothing like that. Which means there's still the possibility of her coming back. As I said, she might just be fed up with the life of an internet celebrity and want something else. But she's very aware that things don't always work out the way they're planned. She wants to be ready in case she doesn't find herself loving life off the grid. If she faked her death, she wouldn't be able to come back."
"But if she just faked a disappearance…"
"Then she could have her triumphant return. Complete with suppressed memories and heroic story of survival," I say.
"What do you have against this girl?" he asks.
I slap the light switch down and head back into the rest of the room. "I don't have anything against her. I barely know who she is. I just feel as if she's putting a whole lot of effort into getting away for a while. Maybe it's time people just let her.”
“What does Dean think about all this?” Sam asks.
“He's not talking about it a whole lot. He noticed a lot of the same strange things I did about the bank and the manager, but he's focusing on his own case. I told him I'm being open-minded and want to help him find this guy. He knows more about the case than I do, so if he doesn't think he's dead, that's what we're going to go on. So, tomorrow, we're going to talk to a few people on the same street as the bank and see if we can get any information about who might have taken that picture and sent in the anonymous tip. I'll share my theories with the detective and his team. Then they can keep going with it while Dean and I get back to Mason Goldman.”
“And that's what you want?” he asks.
“What else would I want?” I ask.
He is quiet for a second in that way he is when he wants me to think about something. This time, though, nothing comes to mind. The door opens and Dean comes in, carrying an armful of snacks and drinks.
"Hey," he says.
"Dean just got back from pillaging the vending machine," I tell Sam. "I think we're going to—"
"Turn on the TV," Dean says.
"What?" I ask.
"Turn on the TV."
I grab the remote beside me and hit the power button. The set takes a few seconds to warm into life, but when it does, the image makes my heart drop. Firefighters stand at the side of the road, spraying something blackened among the tall grass. The camera angle doesn't give a full view of what they're dousing, but it doesn't need to. I've seen it before. I know exactly what it is.
A reporter looks stoic as she reads the teleprompter with cold, even professionalism.
"Footage from earlier shows local firefighters putting out a blaze they initially thought was the beginnings of a wildfire caused by burning leaves. When the worst of the fire was extinguished, however, they discovered a badly charred corpse. Initial investigation shows the fire originated with the corpse. Further work must be done to determine if the person was dead or alive at the time the fire was set. Despite the extensive damage to the body, a wallet was found nearby containing identification. The name is being withheld pending notification of the next of kin, but officials will confirm this may be linked to the case of a more than year-old missing person case."
"What is it?" Sam asks.
"We might not have to look for Mason Goldman anymore."
Chapter Twenty-One
“You don't seem to be understanding what I'm trying to say to you. Nobody can get in touch with his wife,” Dean says.
We've been at the local police precinct for over an hour trying to get someone to listen to us, but we've been shuffled and relocated from place to place. No one seems to have any interest in what Dean has to say. But he's not giving up. Another officer comes to the counter and looks at the one Dean has been talking to with an unpleasant, questioning expression.
"What's going on here?" he asks.
"This man is trying to get information about the charred body," the officer says.
"No," Dean retorts. "If you will just listen to me for ten seconds."
"Agent Griffin?" I look to the side and see Detective White come through a door leading into a long hallway. He looks between Dean and me. "What are you doing here?"
"Noah, thank goodness. Maybe you can help us," I say, walking toward him.
"What's going on?"
"Remember at the bank earlier when I introduced you to my cousin?" I ask.
He nods. "Of course. Dean, the PI. How are you doing this evening?"
Dean looks over at him with an angry expression. "Not great."
"I told you I'm helping him on an investigation into a missing person who has an account at the bank."
"Right."
"The missing person is Mason Goldman," I say.
There's a second where he tries to think of the significance, then recognition flickers over his eyes.
"The body found burned by the side of the road?" he asks.
"So, that is the name found on the identification," I double down.
Dean looks over, then jogs the few steps to us. "It's him?"
Noah holds up a hand to stop us. "I shouldn't have even said that. The identity has not been made public and can't be until the next of kin is notified."
"That's what I'm trying to tell people," Dean says. “His next-of-kin is
