I closed the door to the dialysis room and crossed the hall to Derek’s suite. No wonder he still lives at home, I thought after I had opened the door to a gorgeous living room with a fireplace, comfortable furniture, and a wide-screen television discreetly tucked into the top half of a giant armoire. Two doors opened off of this room—one into what had obviously been Carlos’ room before his mother moved him out to the cabana, and one that had been the master bedroom for Derek and his wife. Now, I noticed, one half of the bed looked as if it hadn’t been touched. On the other half, the covers were pulled up but ruffled, as if Derek had sat there just a while ago, pulling on his shoes or fixing his tie. This room would be harder to search, I realized, because it was so big and held so many chests and cabinets and closets and drawers. Perhaps I could come back tomorrow, during the funeral, and dig deeper. For now, I did a cursory search, stopping for a double take at the shower/tub in the master bathroom, which was huge and so elaborate it came complete with a CD player and television.

This is how the other half lives, I thought as I closed the door to the bathroom and scanned the interior of the walk-in closet. The right side was Derek’s, and I saw that his clothes were neatly organized by style and color. The left side had obviously been Sidra’s—it looked stripped of all but her heaviest winter clothes. There was a box on the top shelf, and I glanced at my watch before climbing up to peek inside. What I found startled me: It looked like a fur coat, sable if I wasn’t mistaken, but it had been cut into shreds. I folded the box shut and stepped back down, wondering if this was an example of the vandalism that had been plaguing Sidra.