It’s location history.

From that weekend.”

She opened a folder of saved map data, and there, tagged and time-stamped, was his movement on the morning they left.

And it was not the route I knew.

Lucas drove to that lake the same way every time, a path I could have traced in my sleep, straight out to the marina.

But the history showed a stop that morning that had no business being there — a small outdoor outfitters shop, miles off his usual road, well out of the way.

“Why would he detour all the way out there?” I said, staring at the little pin on the map, the name of a store I had never heard him mention.