This murder had taken place at a classy resort, like the ones my father owned. A doctor, not a barfly, was the victim, and the sheriff was looking for several persons of interest.

Sophie moved on to questions. “Can you introduce the subject of resorts in New Mexico next time you speak to your father? In case Gracey Group does have some connection to the property?”

“I’ll try. What else can I do?”

“I’d love to know if your sister was a registered guest on Saturday or before. But they’ll keep that information private. They won’t tell either of us.”

When I investigated for Out in the Cold, I knew how to get information, which strings to pull, which ears to bend. I could cite my credentials as a journalist and podcaster before I asked for help. But this was different. I didn’t want anybody to connect Wendy to what had happened. If anyone was suspicious of her part in this, they hadn’t yet traced her to Seabank.

“Do you have any connections you can use?” I asked.

“I’ll try to think of some. But at this moment, no.”

“Thanks, Soph. This...could be it.” I’d almost said “This is promising.” But what was promising about a murder? Ever?

We said goodbye, and I went to check on Holly. She was finally sleeping, although fitfully. The long-term solution to her insomnia might well be hush puppies. Somewhere a medical journal was just waiting to hear from me.

When I returned to my computer, Golden Aspen’s website had finally loaded, but the information was basic. The resort relied on gorgeous landscape photos to entice new guests. Of course there was nothing about a murder anywhere on the site.

I gave up and got ready for bed. As I slipped between the covers, I wondered where my sister was tonight. I was sleeping in her bed, living her life, taking care of her children. Where was she and why?

I was back to saying prayers now that I was in charge of my nieces. Tonight, though, I said a silent one for Wendy. If we’d found the murder she was fleeing, how much evidence pointed to her and why? I prayed that whoever had really committed the crime would be caught and charged so my sister could come home.

Somehow tonight, prayer seemed like another long shot.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Holly wasn’t exactly bright-eyed the next morning, but she was moving. I put Noelle’s hair in pigtails and found their raincoats for the drive to school. Yesterday’s wind had heralded a storm, and heavy rain was falling, an unpleasant addition to cooler temperatures.

As we were leaving, I told both girls to bring their raincoats and backpacks. They’d need raincoats for the trip up the sidewalk from the drop-off point. Since I hadn’t been the aunt-in-residence long, I hadn’t learned that telling a little girl to do something doesn’t always bear fruit. When we arrived and pulled into the line of parents dropping off their children, Holly told me she’d forgotten both raincoat and backpack.