The message pinned this address for the podcaster’s studio, but this is someone’s house. Maybe the studio is in the basement. “Hi, is your dad home?” The kid scrunches his face. “I don’t have a dad.” Poppy is taken aback. She glances at the numbers on the exterior of the house to make sure she’s at the right place: This is it. Maybe it was a crank tip after all. “I’m sorry, I’m looking for Ziggy de la Cruz.” “That’s me.” Oh. “You’re the host of the Treehouse podcast?” He nods. “I’m with the sheriff’s office. You sent a note to our tip line…” The kid’s eyes light up. He opens the door, motions
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