Chapter 4

FOUR

The drive back to the inn, trapped in the car with Jack, didn’t hurt quite as much as Harper thought it would.

In the dim light from the dash, she had only his low tenor and the outline of his face to remind her of the terrible dream-come-true moment of finally sitting in his cute little—and yes, ancient—Geo Tracker.

It wasn’t quite as romantic as she’d dreamed, the heater barely keeping up, the seats narrow and cracked. But he still had those amazing hands that could catch a football and . . .

And that’s when she pulled herself out of her high-school fantasy and back to the present, to the casual catch-up conversation that Jack was attempting.

“I hear you’re freelancing. I thought you were working for some magazine in Nashville.”

Interesting . He knew that? “I’m in between gigs. Are you still doing the missing person’s thing? What do you call it—being a rewardist?”

“I don’t call it anything. I just . . . show up and help if I can.”

“So, what is that—professional nice guy?”

He glanced over at her then, something of darkness in his eyes, and of course it only ignited the investigative journalist inside her.

Something . . .

“Depends. Sometimes yes, sometimes I get sued.”

Hello, darkness, my old friend. “Sued?”

He shook his head. “Hazard of the trade. Which is why I don’t do contracts. I can’t let people down if they don’t depend on me.”

“Interesting way to live.”

“Truth.” He had turned down the road to the inn. “I don’t make promises. And I don’t have any power, really. I carry a gun—I have a concealed carry for Florida, which is good in thirty-seven states but not Minnesota, so it stays in the lockbox in the trunk. And I’m not bonded or licensed and?—”

“But you’re a lawyer.”

“Nope.”

Right. He’d failed the bar, according to Boo. Harper had that information tucked away somewhere in the Never Open file on All Things Jack.

“So, just a vagabond. A finder of lost things. A sometimes nice guy, sometimes troublemaker,” she said. “Got it.”

And there it was, a rare smile.

“Why are you getting sued?”

His smile vanished. “Someone got hurt.”

He went silent then, and she opened up another file in her brain called Things I Shouldn’t Care About.

“In Florida?”

He gave her a glance. “How do you know I live in Florida?”

“Plates on the Geo. And you mentioned you had a concealed carry permit from Florida.”

The sides of his mouth lifted again. “Right. And yes.”

“You mostly work in Florida?”

“I work where there’s a missing person. I spend a lot of time in Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Missouri, and Louisiana. But I like Florida.”

“Too much snow?” She gestured to the dark, frozen banks lining the road.

He drew in a breath. “Too cold, yes.”

Interesting, and it only brought up, well, The Fight.

The one that’d caused Boo to join the reality-television survival show. And then, after the disastrous social media, to flee to Alaska. Maybe it had also caused Jack to flee.

“I saw you and Boo tonight, embracing. So . . .” She glanced at him. “You two okay?”

“I hope so,” he said softly, and it found all her unguarded places. The guy actually sounded . . . humble. Sorry.

He glanced at her. Maybe he knew that of course Boo had turned to her best friend with the sordid details. “I was out of line. It was right about the time Steinbeck got wounded, and then Bront? came home from the military after being with the Marines, and I just saw her getting hurt too. So I opened my big mouth and said something that I thought would shut her down.”

“Yeah, not so much.”

“Mm-hmm.” He sighed. “I was just trying to . . . Never mind. Anyway, yes, I think we’re okay.”

She glanced at him. He appeared actually in pain.

Trying to . . . what? She wanted to follow up, but she still had the memory of the look in his eyes back at the supper club when he’d apologized. The one where he’d looked nearly wrecked, the guilt from the past rising in his eyes.

So maybe the guy had had enough of walking through the shards of yesterday for one night.

She nodded, looked away, let the quiet fall between them.

Slowing, he pulled past the inn and then down the road to Doyle’s place. “What do you write?”

“Culture pieces. Personality articles. I recently did one on Bliss.”

“The actress? She was in Main Street Blues, right?”

“The Broadway show, then the movie. She’s from Minnesota, did you know that?”

He shook his head.

More silence settled between them.

“It’s weird, right? That Penelope left without me?”

“Dunno. Does she do that?”

“Disappear?” Oh. “Actually, yes. She’s done it a couple times, but those were different.”

“Really.” He pulled into Doyle’s drive.

“Yeah. Once in college, for a weekend with her boyfriend. Her father sent a security team to find her.”

He braked in front of Doyle’s house. “A security team.”

“She’s . . . wealthy... But she’s sort of trying to make it on her own. Although, she still has security that checks in on her.”

“And the second time?”

“Publicity stunt to promote Penny for Your Thoughts . She left clues and asked her audience to find her. Whoever won got to join her for a posh weekend in Paris. It worked.”

“I’ll bet.” He turned the car off, held onto the steering wheel. “I saw her talking with Conrad earlier. Maybe he charmed her away from the party.”

“Yeah.” She reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Jack.”

He didn’t look at her but nodded, then backed the Geo out of the driveway and headed down the road.

Doyle’s stairs creaked as she went up to her bedroom and turned on the light.

No Penelope.

Maybe Jack was right. She’d been standing with Penelope when Conrad came up and complimented her on her dancing. The man, center for the Minnesota Blue Ox hockey team, had charisma—charisma that occasionally appeared on social media.

Oh brother . Why couldn’t it be easy—just let a guy in, enjoy his company without analyzing his every motive?

And then there was Jack’s laughter, playing like a siren to warn off her attempts at relationships.

No, this was her future—pajamas and her article.

She changed, then got into her magnificent plush velvet-covered bed and pulled up her laptop.

A Moonlit Prelude to the Main Event

It is a crisp, starry evening in the quaint town of Duck Lake, Minnesota—just three days before Oaken Fox and Bront? Kingston are set to exchange vows, then celebrate at the grand King’s Inn on the shores of Duck Lake. As the sun dips below the horizon, a palpable sense of anticipation and excitement fills the air.

Earlier in the day, the soon-to-be newlyweds gathered their bridal party for a private dance lesson…

She closed her eyes, searching for words, feeling Jack’s hand on her back instead. Oops. And then suddenly she was in the Geo, listening to his soft voice.

“Someone got hurt.”

Aw. She minimized her document and opened up her search bar.

It wasn’t hard to find the article in the Gainesville Sun about a hunt gone wrong for a missing person. According to the article, an eighteen-year-old girl, the daughter of a state senator, had gone missing, and Jack had answered a posting offering a reward.

The sheriff hadn’t been kind about Jack’s profession or his assumption that the girl hadn’t been kidnapped—something the local sheriff didn’t buy into. Jack found the girl and her so-called kidnapper at a local farmhouse. According to Jack, he found them in an embrace—something the parents denied. By the time SWAT got there, it was out of his hands. Mostly because Romeo also happened to be a convicted felon out on parole and the sheriff had no time for Jack’s theories.

The alleged kidnapper died on site, Tansy shot and in a coma, and Jack ended up behind bars for obstruction of justice and reckless endangerment. Never mind that he’d been the one who’d called the cops, according to his statement.

And now the parents were suing him. Just ignore the fact that he could have been killed . . . and had been the one to find her.

It all put a burr inside her and fired her instincts to defend him. Which he clearly didn’t want or need, if she tracked back to his matter-of-fact but chilly responses in the car.

Interesting . And, fine. Back into the Not Her Problem file.

She went back to her article, tried to focus.

Oaken, ever the natural performer, effortlessly leads Bront? in a series of two-step twirls and dips, and magic twines through the building.

By the time the evening draws to a close and the last guests have bade their farewells, an air of giddy anticipation has taken hold. For Oaken and Bront?, their fairy tale is about to reach its pinnacle. And for everyone who has the privilege of bearing witness, the weekend’s festivities are shaping up to be unforgettable.

Slightly sappy, but PopMuse would love it.

She sent the teaser off to Clarice with a request for a release to give to Boo and Oaken, and closed her computer. Then she turned off the light and walked to the window.

The moonlight stretched a luminescent finger along the pristine white of the lake, the trees reaching their dark arms into the velvety night. And in the distance, the undulating pink and green ribbons of an aurora borealis rippled through the sky.

It felt strangely magical.

She climbed under her warm comforter and watched the sky until sleep found her.

And then, of course, the files in her brain opened and she was a teenager on spring break, kissing a boy that could never be hers.

Her subconscious was such a traitor.

Dawn, and the aroma of eggs simmering in butter, maybe bacon on the stove, slipped into her room, and she woke, having slept hard.

Dreamed hard.

So hard she hadn’t heard Penelope come in. She rolled over, the light wan but enough to see— wait.

She sat up.

Penny’s bed remained untouched, although her suitcase still lay open, the insides tumbled, the debris of last night’s clothing changes spilling out onto the floor.

Harper got up and went to the bathroom. The door hung ajar, but she knocked anyway. “Pen?”

No answer, and she pushed it open. No fresh haze from a recent shower. Just Penelope’s makeup scattered on the counter—brushes and liner and mascara.

Harper headed back to her bedside table and picked up her phone. Dialed Penelope’s number.

Hellooo—it’s me. Do that thing you do and I’ll call you back. Toods!

Harper hung up and dropped her phone on the bed.

She heard Jack in her brain. “I saw her talking with Conrad earlier. Maybe he charmed her away from the party.”

She brushed her teeth, fluffed her short hair, then dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed down to the kitchen.

Time stopped, right then, as Harper entered the doorway.

Five of the Kingston siblings sat around an old oak table—laughing, passing syrup, Doyle serving up eggs, Austen adding pancakes to a plate. Steinbeck sat beside Boo, reaching over her for the butter.

Jack had taken the end chair, wearing a flannel shirt, his dark hair wet as if he’d showered, still wearing the dark beard.

Sure, they were older and grown up, but seeing them together—almost healed from the terrible rift that had torn their family apart—stirred old longings inside her.

From back when she’d had a place at the table, her feet swinging from a chair, hoping eighteen-year-old Big Jack might walk into the room, his hair mussed.

For some reason, his mumbled words from last night about the fight raked up. “I was just trying to ? —”

What?

She didn’t have time to pull the words apart because right then, Conrad walked into the room, showered and wearing a Blue Ox pullover. “Wow, you guys are loud.”

“What are you doing here?” The words just spurted out, and maybe she wore a hint of horror in her expression, because even Steinbeck put down his fork.

Quiet.

“What do you mean? I’m here for a wedding?” His brow rose.

“No, I mean—you’re not with Penelope.”

He stilled. “Should I be?” He looked at his siblings, back at her.

“Penelope didn’t come home last night.”

Conrad frowned, his blue eyes wary. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because . . . well . . .” She glanced at Jack, then back to Conrad. “We thought that maybe you two had . . .”

“We?” Conrad glanced at Jack. “What?”

“Hey,” Jack said, lifting a whoa hand. “Her friend disappeared from the restaurant. I just said that maybe you . . . might have . . . um . . .”

Conrad shook his head. “Don’t believe everything you read online.” He turned back to Harper. “I haven’t seen her since last night at the restaurant.”

Boo got up. “She didn’t come back?”

“Her bed isn’t slept in. We ordered an Uber last night, and she left without me.” Harper glanced at Conrad again.

“I promise you, I don’t know where she is.” He folded his arms across his athletic chest. “And I know better than to do some late-night field trip right before a game.”

“You have a game?” This from Austen.

“A doubleheader. Tonight and tomorrow night.” He held up a hand. “Don’t worry—I’m stopping by the tux rental today on my way back to St. Paul. And”—he pointed his gaze to Boo—“I’ll be back for the rehearsal dinner.”

Boo shook her head. “Fine. Whatever. What about Penelope?”

Steinbeck had risen with Boo, his question directed to Harper. “Did you try calling her?”

“Voicemail.”

Boo walked over to her, her eyes wide. “Okay . . . so . . . don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

And then she turned and looked at Jack.

His mouth opened, and Harper could nearly see the understanding washing over him. “Wait . . .”

“Jack. She’s missing.”

He looked at Harper. “She’s done this before.”

“What? This is not that.”

Boo pleaded now. “C’mon, Jack. Please. You have to find her.”

He drew in a breath. And in her head, Harper heard, “I can’t let people down if they don’t depend on me.”

And just like that, in a moment that should have been accompanied by bright lights and singing, she got it. The fight. The rift. And now, after four years, healed or on the way.

“I was trying to . . .”

Protect my sister . Yep, that was the probable end to that sentence.

And now he didn’t want to promise something that might end up . . .

No. Penelope was fine. Probably on a shopping trip to Minneapolis. But even Harper’s brain said that didn’t make sense.

Still, the realization of all of it made her open her mouth, made the words come out almost on their own. “I’ll offer a reward.”

Even Boo gave her an incredulous look.

Jack shook his head. “No, that’s not?—”

“A hundred bucks if you can find Penelope.”

He shook his head.

Boo rounded. “He’ll take it.”

“What?” Jack had risen. “No, I won’t?—”

Boo spun to face him. “Please. Jack. Find my friend.”

Harper’s heart nearly went out to him when he sighed and then nodded. “Of course I will.”

But only nearly , because he got up, pushed his chair back, wiped his mouth, and looked at Harper when he said, “But I have three rules.”

“Oh goody,” Harper said.

He narrowed his eyes. “One, no promises.”

She could have guessed that.

“Two, I don’t make arrests. And I don’t rescue anyone. I find them and let the authorities do the rest.”

“Fine. And three?”

He met her gaze. “Rule three. I work alone.”

She stilled, then, “In what world?”

“In my world.” Then Big, Arrogant Jack pushed his bossy self past her and out of the room.

* * *

Perfect. Just when he’d found his footing in the family again. Sort of. Maybe.

At least he hadn’t promised. Aw. But now he looked like a guy who had to be bribed to help. Not that he intended to take Harper’s money. And he was going to say yes?—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

And here came trouble. He turned as Harper came in hot on his tail. “What do you mean you don’t want help?”

He stopped, right there in the living area of Doyle’s renovated, restored home with the gleaming oak woodwork and the marble-tiled fireplace, the plush velvet sofas that bespoke a time of elegance.

His mother’s touches, for sure—Doyle was only caretaking the place for now while he tried to get his feet back under him. Maybe a better choice than jumping in an old school bus. . .

Whatever .

Jack rounded on Harper. “I mean—I work alone. Help means I have to watch your back, and some of these things can get out of hand?—”

“I’m worried, okay? I called her, and she’s not answering.”

“Did you call her house? Her family?”

Her mouth opened. “No. She doesn’t live at home . . .”

“We should call the cops.”

She stared at him.

“What?”

“What if I’m wrong? What if she’s . . . I don’t know, in Minneapolis, shopping? And suddenly there’s cops everywhere, right during Boo’s wedding.”

“Why would she be in Minneapolis shopping ?”

“I don’t know—it’s Penny. She does what she wants.” She looked at her phone. “I’d call her mom, but Penny would murder me if I worried her without proof.”

“Why?”

Harper sighed. “Reasons. I will try and get ahold of Franco.”

“Who’s that? Boyfriend?”

“Assigned personal security. Although, she’s sort of recently shrugged him off, so . . .”

“She shrugged off her personal security?”

“Long story, but I did mention she’s a Pepper, right?”

“Yes. From the Pepper family billions. . I did make that connection.” Could be, however, that he wasn’t the only one. Right. “Fine. Okay. I got this. The last thing I need is?—”

Her eyes narrowed.

“—a reporter detailing everything, maybe giving anyone a reason to suggest that I might do something out of bounds.”

“You’re talking about the lawsuit over the girl who got shot. Your belief that she wasn’t kidnapped.”

He stilled. “You googled me.”

Her mouth pinched.

So yes.

“You made my point. I’ll call Bront—ah, Boo —if I hear anything.” He turned to go upstairs, where he shared a room with Conrad, who, yes, had been tucked in bed sleeping when Jack arrived back at the house last night after checking on Aggie.

He’d wanted to spend today getting her towed to the inn. Or at least somewhere that wasn’t the market parking lot. But by the looks of the parking lot at the inn last night, as well as at the Grover, the Norbert, and even the smaller Rudolph House, he’d need to find a place at the market, out of the way.

Of course, Harper wouldn’t leave his dismissal there. She scampered up behind him. “She’s my roommate. My friend. And I’m not going to write an article about searching for her?—”

“Or about me?” He glanced at her. “Even if it could get you clicks?”

“Why would I write an article about you?” She met his gaze.

Her eyes stirred something inside him. He drew in a breath. Maybe she didn’t know. Hadn’t read his book.

Wouldn’t make the recent hiccup in his career into a reason for the media to drag up his mistakes. What he’d been thinking back then still eluded him.

So. “No reason. Just . . .” He shook his head. “I move faster on my own.”

“Not this time. You’re on my dime.” She pushed past him. “I’ll meet you out front in five.” She beelined to her room.

“You didn’t hire me—aw.”

He had four minutes to lose her.

He stalked to his room, grabbed his wallet and phone, brushed his teeth, and then headed downstairs for his boots and jacket.

Whoa, she was fast. Dressed in leggings, a white parka, boots, and a hat, her short hair curling out from the back.

He glanced at her, said nothing, and she waited while he put on his work boots and grabbed his jacket.

Then she followed him out to the Geo, and when he unlocked the car, got into the passenger side.

“Fine. Don’t get in the way. People get jumpy when they see a reporter.”

“I’m her best friend. Not a reporter.”

He sighed and nodded and pulled out into the blue-skied, white-scaped day. “We’ll start at the Moonlight Supperclub. Talk to the manager, maybe any valets that might have been on duty.”

“What about contacting Uber and seeing who might have picked her up?”

“We’d need a warrant. Although, if this turns out to be an actual kidnapping, we’ll have to contact the police.”

“If?” She looked at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“If.” He turned out of the inn’s drive, down the street, past her parents’ little yellow house. Yes, he knew where she’d lived—had cringed every time he’d driven past it for a couple years after that spring. “You said she’d done this before. A stunt. I was listening to the podcast on the drive up. I know she’s about to announce who she thinks is the killer in the Sarah Livingston case.”

“So?”

“So, what if this is just publicity, to get more attention on the podcast before the big reveal?”

“C’mon. She has a half million listeners. I doubt?—”

“Or a stall technique? What if she doesn’t know . . . and is buying time?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even for publicity?”

She rounded on him. “She didn’t alert the press, did she?”

“Um . . . you’re the press.”

Great, now she clenched her jaw and turned away.

“Listen. I’ve learned that we don’t know people as well as we think we do. And when people get desperate, they do things they never thought they would.”

“She’s not desperate,” she snapped. “She’s . . . smart.”

He made a noise of disbelief, mostly because she might be right. And he didn’t have a gut feeling about anything right now.

Except, maybe, that he didn’t want to let Boo down. Not when she looked at him with so much hope. “The last thing Boo and Oaken need is scandal around their wedding. Bront?’s had enough scandal with the whole Boo Hoo Kingston thing.”

“She likes the name Boo. Or did until social media made a meme out of her name.”

“They made a meme out of the reality show and the fact that her boyfriend from the show dumped her on air and she made a stink about it. I hate social media. And the last thing I’m going to do is let Penelope turn Boo’s event into a circus.”

Harper said nothing. But she sighed, her breath fogging up the windshield. “I hope, for Penelope’s sake, that you’re right and this is just a publicity stunt.”

They drove through town, then out to the supper club, and pulled into the empty parking lot. Just a couple cars near the employee entrance, and the main door was locked.

He went to the employee entrance, Harper following him, and knocked on the door, then poked his head in.

He saw an entryway into a hallway that led back to offices, and the kitchen in the opposite direction. He held the door for Harper, then headed toward the offices.

Doors hung open around a small reception area with a desk and chair, a window that streamed daylight into the dark, wood-paneled space. Clearly, they hadn’t updated the administration area during their big post-tornado overhaul.

The receptionist looked up from where she worked on a laptop. Midthirties, brown hair, too much time staring at a computer, maybe. “Can I help you?”

He glanced at the nearest open door and spotted Julian from last night, dressed in a vest and a clean shirt, his blond hair groomed. “I need a moment with Channing Tatum over here.” Then he walked into Julian’s office.

The man had risen and now came around his desk. On the walls hung pictures of what looked like Broadway dancers in costume. Chicago, A Chorus Line, Cabaret, 42nd Street, The Wiz, and of course, the newest hit, Main Street Blues.

“You’re with the Kingston-Fox bridal party, right?” He held out his hand.

“Jack Kingston. This is Harper.” Jack glanced at her, and she extended a hand for Julian to shake. “We have a member of our bridal party who is . . . let’s say AWOL, and we are trying to track down her last knowns. Did you have any valets working last night around nine p.m.? She was waiting for an Uber at the door.”

Julian folded his arms over his vest and leaned on the front of his desk. “Yes. We have a couple valets, but with such a small party, we only had one on duty. He should have been at the valet box—so maybe he saw her. I’ll get his name and number for you.”

Huh . Well, that was easy . “Mind if we take a look around the entrance, just to see if . . . I don’t know?—”

“She left a note behind?” Julian grinned. “Listen. We’re a small town. People trust each other here. But it is a getaway, and people meet people, especially on vacation. Or at a wedding, where romance is blooming. Magic happens.” He winked at Harper.

She stared at him, a look of incredulity. “My friend is missing, and you’re joking?—”

Jack grabbed her arm. “We’ll be back.”

He ushered her out into the hallway. “Listen. You make him mad and we get nothing. I don’t have any jurisdiction here, no power of warrant. I can’t ‘drag him down to the station for questioning.’” He finger quoted the last words. “It’s just me and my charm. So if you’re going to be my sidekick, you need to work with me.”

“I’m not your sidekick.” She wrenched her arm from him.

He held up his hand. “Fine. But if you want to find her, you need to do it my way.”

Her mouth tightened, but she nodded.

He thought.

Hopefully.

He checked back in with Julian, who was on the phone—hopefully to the valet—then headed down the hallway to the entrance where he’d seen Penelope last night.

“What are we looking for?” Harper asked.

“Anything. Once I found a broken bike light that led to a woman trapped in a culvert, nearly dead from exposure. Another time I found a vintage gold chain and traced it to an online estate sale, which led me to a Realtor who had decided to take out her competition.”

“Dark.”

“You have no idea.” He was looking through the fronds of a plant while she picked up the cushions of a bench. “People are capable of terrible things when they are pushed.” He stood up. “Nothing here. I’m going outside.”

He stepped out into the cold, the wind burning his nose despite the sunshine. A thin layer of ice and snow covered the lot, tire tracks indented in the blackened grime. He walked over to the valet stand, but it was empty.

Harper pushed outside too. “Nothing.”

“No, there’s something.” He pointed to the camera aimed at the parking lot. “Security footage. C’mon.”

He headed back inside as Julian came down the hallway holding a Post-It note.

“I called Ethan, and he said he didn’t see her leave. But you can talk to him yourself.”

Perfect . A call from the boss about a missing person. Now, even if Ethan had seen something, he’d be loath to admit it. Jack managed a smile and took the paper. “Thanks.” He pocketed it, then glanced outside. “I noticed you have security cameras. I don’t suppose you’d let us take a look at the footage?”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “I think maybe that request will have to come from Sheriff Davidson.”

Right . Or, “Sure. Although the request could leak, and then you’ll have the news sniffing out that Penelope Pepper, the famous murder podcaster, has gone missing from the Moonlight Supperclub and . . .” He lifted a shoulder.

Julian sighed. “Let me make a call. All our footage is stored on our server in the security office. I suppose if Marcus is there, watching . . .”

“Marcus?”

“Alvarez. He’ll be in after lunch. We have another event tonight.”

“We’ll swing back around then. Thanks.” Jack pulled out his cell phone and stepped outside.

“That’s it?” Harper followed him. “What if he changes out the tapes between now and then?”

The call rang.

“This isn’t the eighties. Everything is digital and probably uploaded to the cloud, and why would Julian do that? He has nothing to hi—Hello, is this Ethan?”

The voice seemed groggy, as if he’d woken the kid, so maybe there hadn’t been a previous phone call. “Yeah, sure. What do you need?”

“I’d like to talk to you about a woman you might have seen last night?—”

“I already told my boss, I didn’t see her.”

“Perfect. I’d like to swing by just for a short chat.” He looked at the name. “Lockwood. Your dad is Tom. You’re over on Willow?”

A beat. “Who is this?”

“Jack Kingston. Just a friend of the missing woman.”

Another beat. “Okay. Fine.” He hung up.

Jack pocketed the phone.

“I remember Tom Lockwood,” said Harper. “Science teacher.”

“That’s the one. He was a track coach too.” He headed toward the Geo. “Taught me how to run.”

“Now we know who to blame.”

He glanced at Harper, frowned.

She grinned at him, then got into the Geo.

Oh, this would be a long day.