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reached a boulevard with trees on one side, townhouses and public buildings on the other. Too busy for a crime scene, Holly decided, until Mike turned left onto Agassiz, a one-lane street bordered by woods. Police cruiser lights flashed from an area on the left. Cars ahead crept along, some drivers pausing to talk to the officer who signaled with his flashlight to move on.
    “No ambulance,” Holly noted, “so no body. That’s good, but oh! We can’t park here.” Holly pointed to the Tow-Away-Zone sign.
    “Of course not. This is Boston ,” Mike said wearily.
    “Well, I’ll hop out the next time traffic stops. You circle around or kill time somewhere for a half hour or so and then come back to pick me up.”
    “Very good, madam. Will there be anything else?”
    Holly swiveled her head toward Mike. Was he angry? No. He was grinning. “Thanks for doing this,” she said.
    “You owe me.”
    “Fair enough.” When the car stopped, Holly scrambled out, heading toward a group of pedestrian gawkers. She asked around, but no one knew anything, so she turned her attention to a reporter being filmed by her cameraman. Trying to move in close enough to hear what the reporter was saying, Holly found her way blocked by a stony-faced cop.
    Frustrated, and thinking about hiking into the woods to sneak back to the spot from another direction, Holly heard a familiar voice call her name. She turned to see Dan Vogel approaching.
    Wearing a soft brown-leather jacket and jeans, he looked different—more relaxed and a lot sexier. “So you made it,” he said when he reached her.
    “You give good hints.”
    “Not always. Most of the time, I’m the tight-lipped type.” He touched her elbow. “Come over here where we can talk.” Dan led her away from the crowd. “You’re by yourself?”
    “Mike Smallwood drove. He’s off somewhere, but he’ll be back.”
    “Nice of him,” Dan said, but he didn’t say it nicely. “Mike’s always been a player. You should watch out for his charm.”
    Were they talking about the same man? Mike Smallwood didn’t strike Holly as a player or a charmer, and the idea of him hitting on her was absurd. “Not a problem. Mike’s just curious. We both are. What did you find?”
    Eyeing the reporter, Dan said, “It’ll be public knowledge soon, so you might as well know. We found Kyle Blake’s backpack in the weeds. The dogs are out now. Tomorrow, there’ll be divers.”
    “Just the backpack?” Holly imagined other grim items a knapsack could hold. “Nothing…uh, nothing else?”
    Dan shook his head. “Ordinary stuff: school books, notepads, class ring.”
    Holly frowned. “Why would his ring be in the backpack? Don’t people usually wear those things? I never bought a class ring—couldn’t afford it.”
    “I say Kyle Blake wanted to make a statement. Cut the school emblem out of your jacket, and leave the rest where it’s certain to be found. Heave your school bag into the muck—but not too far in. Make sure it’s near a path and that a ring with your initials is inside. Could there be a clearer way to say ‘Screw you!’? Blake may be a runaway.”
    “That’s crazy. Why would a senior at a fancy school—a kid with big prospects for a golden future—give it all up? It’s more likely the kidnapper just wanted to ditch evidence.”
    “ Here ? A dumpster would be easier and safer. It doesn’t add up. Instead of abductions, we may have an epidemic of kids on the run.”
    “Not Ariel Kelly. Liv saw her taken.”
    “She didn’t see the girl pulled into the van. Kelly could have been acting out a plan. I mean what kind of kidnapper would choose daylight on one of the busiest streets in Boston to snatch a victim? If anything’s crazy, that idea is.”
    Holly rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m confused.”
    “You’re not the only one. In fact—”
    “Vogel!” An officer shouted from across the street. “If you’re done chatting up the girls, you think you could help out