The alligator clock had gone out with the trash.

My mother had done what she said she would. While I sat beside her, she phoned the authorities in Santa Fe and told them everything I’d discovered. A few days later I flew out to be interviewed. But before I even boarded the plane, the investigators knew Wendy’s latest location. I told them that she’d slipped up and mentioned where she planned to go next without realizing it.

I hoped it was the last lie I ever told, but it served its purpose. Authorities in Los Angeles detained my sister just hours before she was scheduled to board a flight to Montenegro, a charming Balkan country without an extradition treaty. It’s possible Wendy might have been happy there in a cute little villa by the sea, but I wasn’t sure she was capable of happiness.

Now, with the case against her gathering momentum, she would probably find whatever happiness she could in prison.

Ex had been persuaded to tell his story to detectives from the Santa Fe sheriff’s department. His family had arranged the meeting in Costa Rica, and at this time there was no talk of arrest or extradition. Several people really had seen Wendy fighting with Calvo in the bar on the morning of his death, and after her arrest, each of them had identified her.

If everything, including a set of fingerprints Wendy left on Calvo’s light switch, didn’t lead to a conviction, she had also been arrested with a flash drive of photos in her possession. When contacted, several sheepish men had admitted she was blackmailing them. Most likely she would be tried for that crime, as well.

Since there was no death penalty in New Mexico, and with the mounting evidence against her, Wendy was weighing her options. My father and Bryce had agreed to pay for her attorney, but only if she plead guilty. Good legal representation might get her the best sentence, but Vítor Calvo had been internationally acclaimed, and even the best attorney couldn’t sneak the legal proceedings under media radar. For everyone’s sake, I hoped the judge felt enough pressure that Wendy went to prison for a very long time.

As expected, our local authorities said that Greta’s necklace was not enough evidence to have Wendy tried for her best friend’s murder. None of us would ever know exactly what had happened that terrible evening so many years ago, but some of us would suspect the worst.

Today I was upstairs with my nieces, helping them pack. Each girl had one small suitcase to take back to Connecticut, where they would spend spring break with their father. Bryce was on the way from the airport now, to scoop them up and take them home.

We had all decided that he should be the one to explain to Holly and Noelle that their mommy was never coming home again. I thought he would probably tackle it once they were in familiar surroundings.

I didn’t know what else he would tell them, because we’d hardly spoken. I’d seen Bryce twice since returning from Utah, both times when he was able to get emergency shore leave. The visits were short, and I had moved out of the town house to let him stay with the girls. Of course now he knew everything that had transpired with Wendy, and he had thanked me for doing the right thing. I’d assured him I wanted the girls to finish the school year in Seabank, and he had promised he didn’t hold Wendy’s actions against our family.