“They have boondocks in California?”

“Boondocks are universal. So what do we do next?”

If Wendy had been involved in a murder in either Arizona or California, wouldn’t we know by now? The body either hadn’t yet been found—an image I didn’t want in my head—or she’d lied to me and possibly to our parents about her destination, or at least the tail end of the trip.

I gave in to the inevitable. “I guess we open this up a state at a time. It would help if I could get Wendy’s travel schedule from someone at Gracey Group. But that’s too suspicious now that she’s been delayed.”

“I’ll keep nosing around.”

We talked about the cold cases I’d looked into since arriving in Seabank. We did our usual give and take on questions, and hung up with three possible cases to concentrate on for the next week, with hopes of making a decision soon.

As soon as I disconnected, I checked the phone for a call log, but thanks to my mother’s frugality, there wasn’t one. Then I opened my computer, and when Sophie’s links to the two murders came through, I looked them over. But she was right. They weren’t promising.

On a whim I called my favorite technology wonk, a young man in his final year of high school, who would rather answer questions than eat or breathe. He’d been a big help on Out in the Cold’s first season, and he’d promised to help us next time in return for having his name in the credits again. Sophie and I specialized in getting first-class advice at bargain basement prices.

Ten minutes later I hung up after a lecture I only partially understood. My question had been whether Wendy’s cell phone call to me could still be traced. Just knowing where she’d been when she made it would be a starting point. Now I knew that the authorities could get a reasonable approximation on the location of the call using cell phone towers, but unfortunately I could not. Of course if there really had been a murder, the authorities already knew where it had happened, so I certainly wasn’t going to give them proof my sister had been anywhere in the vicinity.

Dead end.

When I noticed the time was after midnight, I closed down my computer, hoping that Holly might be asleep by now. I peeked in her room and saw she was tossing from side to side. One shower later, dressed in boxers and a tank top, I checked for what I hoped would be the last time. Gentle snuffly snores came from Holly’s side of the room.

“Bingo.” I tiptoed in and carefully lifted the pink butterfly-adorned backpack off the floor at the foot of her bed, surprised how heavy it was. I took it to Wendy’s room and sat cross-legged on the bed to go through the main compartment one item at a time.

I removed a math textbook and the workbook that accompanied it. Next out was a plastic binder with her homework neatly tucked in the front pocket, followed by a plastic case with pencils, pens and erasers. She was a neatnik, our Holly. If I’d carried a backpack at that age, the inside had probably looked like a barn floor.