I had planned to start with the substantial jewelry box, the only item on top of the dresser, but not surprisingly the box was locked, most likely against little fingers, since any thief worth his salt would simply carry it away. I hoped the key was inside one of the drawers.

Predictably, the top one held lingerie. My own holds the same, so it’s possible our mother passed on this tried-and-true feminine organizing tip. The similarity ended there. While I’m fond of cotton briefs and sports bras, my sister is apparently fond of skimpy. Skimpy bras, skimpy thongs, crotchless panties—no need to repeat skimpy there. Theoretically Wendy had twice as many bras and panties as I did, but they took up less than one-third the room. I wondered if the more utilitarian variety had traveled out west with her. Maybe this was the Bryce-Is-Home drawer. Or maybe Wendy just needed the reminder she was still feminine and sexy, even if her husband was at sea.

I thrust my hand down among the fluff and fancy, and separated items to see if anything was hidden there. No luck.

The second drawer held less exotic lingerie. The third was filled with T-shirts and yoga pants, shorts and bathing suits. The fourth contained a collection of beautiful filmy shawls in a variety of colors. Whenever she went out, Wendy battled air-conditioning with a shawl, so a new one was always a safe birthday gift from me.

I hit pay dirt behind the ones stacked on the right side and pulled out a cardboard box, which had probably held a necklace or earrings. Inside I found a key.

I skipped the bottom drawer in favor of the jewelry box and unlocked it. It was suede and carved wood, probably as expensive as some of the jewelry inside. Once opened I saw a mirrored lid, and a top shelf divided into segments, half with holes for earrings. Every segment was crowded with an assortment of silver jewelry, and every hole was filled.

Below the top were three drawers. Some compartments held gold pins or brooches, some gold bracelets. A door on each side had hooks for hanging necklaces with an elastic pocket below where they could pool.

Nothing I held to the light was fake or cheap. Wendy had always liked and collected jewelry, favoring expensive and classy over fun and funky. I wasn’t surprised at the amount she had brought to Florida. Like our mother, she wore jewelry every day. She was never embarrassed to be seen putting gas in her car wearing pearls or her birth stone sapphires.

Since I rarely bother with jewelry, I’m no expert. But I guessed that some of this was worth a great deal of money.

I closed and locked the box, and replaced the key where I’d found it. By now one thing seemed clear. My sister had planned to return. Disappearing for good had never been in the cards. If she’d planned to stay away, she would have taken her pearls, the diamond studs Bryce had given her on their tenth anniversary, the necklace with the emerald-cut amethyst surrounded by tiny sapphires and diamonds.