“Okay. We’re on our way to her house now to check it out. Call if you hear from her.” Now I’m starting to sweat. Did we take the harassing phone calls seriously enough, especially with all that’s gone on? Shit. I direct Joe to turn at the light, and we’re heading down the Bradleys’ street.

I try Mrs. Bradley’s cell and landline again, but no answer again.

Mrs. Murray, flanked by the two dogs, stands on her porch, leans over the rail to watch us as we knock on Mrs. Bradley’s door. Agent Metz and Joe circle the house, but soon return to the front.

“Anything?” I ask.

“Looks locked up, undisturbed,” Joe says.

“Christ.” We turn and look up the street as if Mrs. Bradley might come walking down the road. Maybe she will, but my gut tells me otherwise. There’s an emptiness at the house, as though it’s been abandoned. We walk over to talk to Mrs. Murray, and she verifies that Mrs. Bradley walks her dog no earlier than nine a.m., and it’s barely seven-thirty. We also see that the dog is gentle, easily handled; it’s not likely she would’ve pulled away from Mrs. Bradley and run off.

Joe drops down on his haunches, pets the dog, and examines her paws. “Looks like she might’ve been out a while,” he says, standing. “Her feet are pretty muddy, and”—he runs a hand over her back—“her coat’s pretty wet, like she might’ve been lying in the snow. How long has the dog been here?”

Mrs. Murray looks at her watch. “I called right away after we got back from Mrs. Bradley’s place, so not long. Do you think something’s happened to her?”

I shake my head. “We don’t know. Where does she walk when she goes by your house? Which direction?”

“Well.” Mrs. Murray wrings her hands, anxious to help. “She walks up toward the corner, most days. That’s what I’ve noticed anyway.”

“Toward the gas station?”

“Yes.” She points a skinny, knotted hand. “Up that way, toward the intersection.”

“When does she usually walk the dog?”

“I see her morning and evening most days when I’m around.”

“What time in the evenings?”

“About dinnertime, I guess.”

“Did you see her last evening?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t. I’m not always in the front room where I can see her, Detective,” Mrs. Murray says, as if she’s failed in her duties somehow

“That’s fine. We appreciate your help.” We start down the stairs.

“I’ll keep Sadie here with me if that’s all right,” she calls behind us.

“That would be a big help,” I say. We take off at a brisk pace, following the path we hope Mrs. Bradley took.