The message was short and to the point and it made his blood pound:

Shane Hennessey says Miriama used to wear an expensive platinum and diamond watch. Most people thought it was a fake. Matilda’s agreed to look for it for us.—-Ana

“Miriama said no when you tried it on with her?” Will nudged after sliding away his phone, using his -well--worn technique of keeping his voice mild and emotionless. As if he was only slightly interested in the answer. The reason it was a -well--worn technique was that it worked. Suspects and bystanders alike read what they wanted to hear in his voice.

Today, Steve nodded his head like a bobblehead doll. “I know you’re doing the whole search thing so the morons in this hick town will like you, but don’t waste your time. Miriama’s a sharp operator who can look after herself. Like that watch she has. I used to work with jewelry before, recognize quality.”

Will interpreted that to mean Steve had stolen or fenced jewelry at some point in time. “What’s so interesting about her watch?”

“It’s seriously fancy, that’s what.” Steve’s piggy little eyes glinted. “Worth at least twenty grand.”

Will pinned the other man to the spot with his gaze. “That’s a whole lot of motive, wouldn’t you say?” In a town like Golden Cove, twenty thousand dollars might as well be twenty million dollars.

Two hot red flags flaring on his cheeks, Steve lifted his hands and waved. “Hey, hey, don’t you go trying to pin anything on me. Watch’s still in her -room—-come, I’ll show you.”

Following the other man down the short and narrow hallway, Will put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and held him back from entering the room when they arrived. “You stay here.” There was no reason to think Miriama’s room was a crime scene, but he still didn’t want Steve inside. “Where does she keep the watch?”

“That little drawer to the left. It’s under a pile of panties.”

When Will just stared at him, Steve licked his lips and Will could almost hear him thinking of an excuse for pawing through Miriama’s underwear drawer.

“She asked me to get her a pair once, when she forgot to take it into the shower,” was what he came up with.

Deciding the obvious lie didn’t deserve a response, Will retrieved the watch after tugging on a pair of disposable gloves from his jacket pocket. Instinct and experience told him Steve was -right—-this was no -well--made fake. He put the glittering object that was more jewelry than timepiece in an evidence bag he’d pulled from another pocket, then wrote out a receipt and placed it on the dresser, beneath a glass trinket box. He’d make sure Matilda knew he’d picked up the watch, just in case Steve decided to be a vindictive shit and not mention it.

As he was in the room already, he took a quick look around. He didn’t want to invade Miriama’s privacy, but at this stage, it was looking more and more likely that she wasn’t okay; Will needed to know anything and everything that might help him find her.

The room held a bed, a built--in closet, a small desk, and an old computer. Prints of Miriama’s photographs were pinned to the walls, but he saw no camera equipment. The latter didn’t surprise him; Miriama had once mentioned that Josie let her use part of the back room of the café as an office. Not only could she work in peace there after the café closed, she probably didn’t have to worry about Steve selling off equipment she’d worked hard to buy.

He turned to spear the man to the spot with his eyes again. “Fingerprints don’t rub off as easily as people think,” he said. “Am I going to find yours all over this room?”

Flushing hot red under the pasty white of his skin, Steve folded his arms and bristled. “What’re you trying to say?” When Will just held the eye contact, the other man dropped his arms and looked left, then right, then down at his feet, then back up again. “I just wanted to look at her things, okay.” His hands fisted by his sides. “I’m at home a lot. I get bored.”

“Does she have another hiding place?” Instinct told him the watch had been shoved in the underwear drawer quickly, maybe because Miriama had been looking at it, only to be interrupted. It couldn’t be the permanent spot. Not with Steve in the house.

The other man didn’t try any bullshit this time. “Behind the bed,” he said, pointing his finger at the single bed with its metal frame. It was neatly made up with a soft pink flannel sheet and matching pillowcase; a dark blue blanket lay folded at the bottom. “There’s a board on the floor that comes up. She hides her diary and stuff in there. The watch’s usually in there, too.”

“How many times have you read that diary?”

Steve’s lip curled. “I don’t need to read her diary. Probably the same crap women always -write—-feelings and shit.” A snort accompanied by a scratch of his protruding belly. “Only thing I’m interested in is between -her—-” Cutting himself off when he finally looked at Will’s face, Steve began to back away. “Look,” he said, “I don’t read too good. I just wanted to look at her stuff. I didn’t touch that diary.”

Waiting until the other man had backed himself all the way into the living room, Will shut the bedroom door before retrieving the single item beneath the floorboard: an old tin box heavy enough to hold a diary. As a hiding space, it was a good one. If Steve hadn’t been unemployed and at home so -much—-and likely a former -thief—-he probably wouldn’t have put together the sounds of the bed being moved with a hiding spot.