Reassured, he sprinted back to the Volvo and sped off.

I watched him go, said a little prayer that Gillian would be kept safe and found quickly and went upstairs.

The place was stone silent.

I stood on the threshold for a moment, trying to sense whether anyone was there or not. There’s usually the slightest quiver in the air, when there’s another person present.

No vibes.

I put on my Sponge Bobs and carried the boxes upstairs, one at a time. When Jolie and Greer arrived, we’d go through Lillian’s belongings together, laugh a little and probably cry a lot. It would be a sort of informal, just-us tribute to her memory.

I set the cartons in the middle of the living room, started a pot of coffee brewing and grabbed a shower. Afterward, dressed in shorts and a tank top, I felt presentable again.

Poured myself a coffee, doctored it and wondered what was keeping my sisters.

I dug my cell out of my purse, remembered the battery was D.O.A. and plugged the thing in to recharge.

Speculating that Jolie or Greer might have left a message on my voice mail, I picked up the landline, heard the tone indicating I’d missed some calls and keyed in the access code.

There were three hang-ups, then Jolie’s voice came on. “Moje, it’s me,” she said. “Listen, there’s been sort of an incident and—well—we’ll be a little late. Just don’t worry, okay?”

Sort of an incident?

Just don’t worry?

Jolie brought it home. “See you soon.”

Click.

I stared at the receiver for a few seconds, wondering if this was some kind of passive-aggressive payback for running off to Cactus Bend the night before in my pj’s and giving my sisters some anxious moments.

I punched in Jolie’s number hard enough to make some of the buttons stick.

“Hi,” chimed a recorded voice, when I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, “this is Jolie Travers. I’m not available right now, but please leave your name, number, and a brief message. If it’s appropriate, I’ll call you back.”

“Mojo Sheepshanks,” I said irritably, “480-555-4956. What the hell do you mean by ‘sort of an incident’? That could be anything from a flat tire to a gunshot wound, and you damn well know it!”

I crashed the phone down hard.

That’s when I remembered that I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. What I needed was a jolt of caffeine. That would rocket me back into the world of relatively civil people.

Coffee always wakes me up.

This time, it made all the muscles in my body go limp.