“But Callie,” Marion said. “It’s okay. He’s with Judith. We’ll just keep trying to reach her on her car phone and—”

“No!” Derek and I both yelled at once.

“It might be safer for the time being if Judith doesn’t know Carlos is with her,” Sidra added more softly.

“What kind of vehicle does she have?” one of the cops asked.

“She drives a company car,” Derek answered. “A Mercedes.”

“Late model?”

“This year.”

The policeman was one step ahead of us, already picking up the phone to dial Mercedes Benz.

“If we’re lucky,” he said as he dialed, “her car will have a GPS tracking system.”

“If you’ll give me the plate number and things like that,” the other cop said to Marion, “we can put an APB out.”

“If he’s in the trunk, Carlos may have smothered by now!” Sidra wailed, burying her head against Derek’s shoulder. He held her against him like a lifeline, whispering softly to comfort her.

“This way, officer,” Marion said, heading for Wendell’s study. The cop, Nick, and I followed as she quickly made her way over to Wendell’s file cabinet.

“Everything should be here,” Marion said as she pulled out a file and laid it across the desk. She read off the plate number to the officer as I paced at the other end of the room.

“I do not believe this nightmare,” Nick said, shaking his head. I just walked quietly back and forth, thinking.

When Marion had finished giving the officer the necessary information about Judith’s car, he left the room, and she came over to us.

“If only Wendell were here,” she said softly, her eyes threatening to spill over with tears again. “He would know what to do.”

She walked to the case that held Wendell’s antique clothing collection and ran her hand lovingly across the top of the glass. My heart ached for her, and I was about to step closer and put my arm around her shoulder when she gasped.

“The shirt!” she said, bending over to peer into the case. “The Jefferson shirt is gone!”

Nick and I both stepped to the case and looked inside. I realized instantly what she was talking about. The white ruffled shirt from the top right corner of the shelf was missing with nothing but an empty space of black velvet where it had been.

“Could Carlos have taken it?” I asked. “I know he loves this collection.”

“Carlos isn’t stupid,” Marion said. “He knows the shirt is priceless. He wouldn’t go near it.”

“Priceless?” Nick asked. “Which one?”

Marion waved her hand dismissively.

“One of the shirts from this collection is very, very valuable—and it’s been stolen.”

“Go get the police officer,” I said. “There might be fingerprints.”

“I will do it,” Nick said, leaving the room.