I've run into ex-boyfriends in the most unlikely of places, but finding Ezra Marsh wet and shirtless at the end of a dock was the strangest. This was the last place my clients' daughter had been seen, which was an unfortunate coincidence. But it didn't top the fact that Ezra was dead. I attended his funeral fifteen years earlier and cried for weeks. Yet, here he stood hunched over and staring wide-eyed at me. His expression reminded me of the last time I caught my cat pissing on my bed.

"Teresa?" he said. So much for mistaken identity. He looked thinner than I remembered. Less baby fat, more muscle. He'd aged well. Fifteen years and several forgettable boyfriends disappeared in that moment. I was seventeen and in love. I fought down the feeling.

"It was a lovely funeral,&quo...

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