Come to think of it, had I seen Mellie since the day she’d snuck out of the Dixons’ place?

Frowning, I made a mental note to check on her status with Paul and Margaret. But I couldn’t forget the expression I’d caught on the rock couple’s faces in front of Alice’s home, that exquisite hunger at the proximity to violence.

“Not sure they can be trusted,” I muttered under my breath.

I could call Neri, but she’d give me nothing. Maybe if I’d worked on her earlier . . . No, she’d never been the nut that would crack.

The Henare home had gone dark for the night, but Veda and Brett were still awake, their windows ablaze with light. There was something up with those two. Otherwise why would Veda have made it a point to tell me she’d been out of town on the night in question?

A hidden message?

Hmm, I’d have to think about it.

In the end, I lowered the lights, sat down, and began to work on my book. But my mind wasn’t interested in fictional murder; it wanted answers to the one that haunted me. Giving in, I closed the file and opened up my browser. With nowhere else to look, I began to trawl through the social media profiles I hadn’t checked earlier. Riki’s was private and Diana’s kids were too young to have posted anything interesting.

I frowned, reminded of my idea of tracing Sarah, building a bridge between her and Diana. Since I had nothing better to do until the Cul-de-Sac went to sleep, and this was a worthy project, I put her name into the search engine: Sarah Teague.

I knew Diana’s maiden name because I’d seen her certificates from medical school, and my name-collecting brain had a hundred-percent recall rate. She used to have the certificates on the photo board by the television. I wondered if they were still there, buried behind an entirely different life—or if she’d put them in her private home study.

Unfortunately, “Sarah Teague” brought up a ton of listings, but researching the esoteric was a skill I’d honed as a writer, so I pushed up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, and got to work whittling it down. The first step was to limit the search to New Zealand, since Diana had confirmed Sarah still lived here.

I then excluded anyone over and under a certain age range, but kept it a little wide, because things weren’t always indexed precisely.

Better, but still messy.

“You’re an idiot, Aarav.” Wanting to slap myself, I went straight to Mia’s social media page, and began to click through her prodigious list of friends. Her page was semiprivate, but she’d friended me a while ago. I’d accepted because I barely posted on my private profile; there was no chance of her seeing anything inappropriate.

I found one “Sarah” among her friends, but she was a girl of the same age as Mia.

Not truly surprised, since Sarah was doing everything she could to stay under Diana’s radar, I switched to Beau’s page. He’d linked up with me a year before his sister. Lots of posts about music, but no Sarah Teague among his contacts, nor anyone who looked like Diana’s sister.

I went back to my search results. Diana had said Sarah wasn’t yet married, so I didn’t have to worry about a name change—unless Sarah had changed her name to further distance herself from Diana. In which case, I was sunk. But leaving aside that worst-case scenario, what else did I know?

She lived in a town in the South Island. She had a senior position in an insurance company. She’d been older than me when she left—an adult to my eyes, but a hot young adult. Couldn’t have been more than nineteen, twenty, which would put her at thirty-two or so today. She’d also gone on a cruise last year to Venice—and she hadn’t gone alone.

Bingo.

Even if she was one of those people who eschewed social media, someone else would’ve likely noted her name in a photo. I kept hunting, the task providing needed exercise for my brain as well as a break from the subject of my mother’s murder. But I kept on striking out. That was when I remembered seeing a name on Mia’s friends list: Olivia Romero.

Dark-eyed, dark-haired Olivia had been Sarah’s closest friend and the focus of my teenage crush. The two women had been joined at the hip, to the point that when Sarah got caught shoplifting, Olivia was right beside her. They’d done everything together. If anyone knew Sarah’s whereabouts and how to get in touch with her, it’d be Olivia.

Clicking on her profile, I sent a friend request. Since it was late, I wasn’t expecting a response, but it was accepted within seconds. A message popped up the next second.

 Aarav! Nice of you to remember your old friends now you’re famous! /jk

 World famous in my own head.

 Ha! You’re being modest. I saw the movie. It was amazing.

 Thanks. Hey, I was hoping to get in touch with Sarah. Have you heard from her lately?

 

The waving dots that indicated the person on the other end was typing went on longer than usual, so I began to go through her friends list on the off-chance Sarah was hidden in there. I’d gotten halfway through when her reply popped up.

 Wow, that’s a blast from the past. Man, we got into such trouble together. Could you have imagined me as a suburban mum with three kids, a golden retriever, and a husband who thinks it’s the height of excitement when one of his zucchinis grows bigger than usual?

 Definitely not, but from the pictures on your page you’re very happy with where you’ve landed.

 I am. I hope Sarah’s happy, too.

 You don’t know?

 No, that’s the thing—she ghosted me years ago, back when she had that blow-up with Diana. She didn’t even tell me she was taking off. I finally called Diana to ask why Sarah wasn’t returning my messages or calls. She’s the one who told me that Sarah had bailed. Can you believe it? Nine years of friendship, of sisterhood, and she ghosted me?