Tropicana was surrounded by other middle range developments, and most likely the local crime rate was low. Still, snowbirds hadn’t begun to return, and many neighboring houses would be empty until after Christmas. I was surprised Wendy was so relaxed about security.

As a child, I had loved being Dad’s assistant when repairs were needed. Consequently, I wasn’t too bad at simple carpentry and plumbing. I’d noticed a toolbox in the garage, so now I went to find a screwdriver.

Fifteen minutes later I made a note to call my mother about a new knob and dead bolt, because these were beyond redemption. Gracey Group probably had a list of service providers. I wedged a chair under the doorknob, turned on the security alarm and went back to the garage to finish emptying the car and retrieve my laptop.

The girls had taken up my time, but not my thoughts. All afternoon I’d made mental notes about finding my sister. Sophie was looking, and she could find almost anything. At the same time I had to check for myself, in case something unusual jumped out at me.

I logged on and did a quick search of general news sites for crimes in Arizona. Then I searched for the names of all the major newspapers in the state and methodically visited those that had websites I could access. Two hours later I hadn’t found anything promising.

Because of our age difference, Wendy and I had never shared friends, so there was no one I could call to question. Besides, I doubted my sister was calling old pals and giving away her location. The same with our few living relatives, who were all as distant on the family tree as they were in miles.

I started a file for a list of things I could do next. Searching the town house was a long shot, since whatever had happened, wherever it had happened, probably had nothing to do with anything Wendy had left behind. Still, a search had to be made. I was sure I wouldn’t find my sister’s laptop, because she traveled with it, but I could look through the stacks of papers littering the downstairs and Wendy’s desk, even though a quick shuffle had turned up nothing more than household bills, high-end fashion catalogs and Gracey Group memos. Again I suspected anything relevant—if such a thing existed—was in Wendy’s possession.

Six items later I called Sophie. She answered immediately.

We were used to dispensing with preliminaries. “Any luck?” I asked.

“Nothing. Nada. Is it possible that the body hasn’t been found yet?”

This was the type of conversation we often had, only usually, we had it about murders that were committed years ago.

“Anything’s possible,” I said. “She told me so little.”

“I searched for missing persons, too, but you know how that goes. Maybe whoever it is hasn’t been reported missing. Or they have been, but the authorities are waiting some number of days or hours before they fill out a report. Can you ask your mother for more information about your sister’s trip?”