But what seemed even more odd was that no one had come looking for her, and I said as much to Julia.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” she said. “And since it sounds as if she was about my age, more than a little disconcerting.”

I didn’t see why. “Your husband would send out a posse if you were more than ten minutes late to anything.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.”

“It’s not?”

“No. The point is that this is happening at all. Every person should be missed. No one should be able to vanish for a week and not have a hue and cry raised.”

“Okay,” I said, and she was right. Everyone should be valued, and the loss of any person should leave a hole somewhere. “But there are reasons why a person could be gone and not be missed right away.”

“Like what?”

Rats. I should have known she was going to call me on that. “Well, for one, a solo vacation. People do that, even happily married people. They leave everything behind for a week, no electronics, no nothing, and just get away.”

Julia’s sniff indicated that she wasn’t on board with my theory. “Any other ideas?”

“Look at that!” I said, a little too brightly. “We’re at the first stop, and there’s so much to do!”

There were opportunities to think about other possibilities, but by the end of the day, I’d only come up with one. By this time we were in another corner of the county, leaving our last stop, a kindergarten-through-eighth-grade charter school that focused on arts of all kinds. It was a wonderful stop—the kids were engaged and enthusiastic—but after shutting the door behind them, we always took a moment to breathe in the quiet peace.

“One other idea,” I said, starting the engine.

Julia checked the strap on Eddie’s carrier and fastened her own seat belt. “Excellent. An idea for what?”

“For how a well-loved person could be missing for a week and no one would notice.”

“You’re still on that?” Julia laughed. “Dog on a bone, aren’t you? Sorry, Eddie.”

“Maybe the person’s loved one is the one who’s gone. On a trip with a group of friends. Or maybe at a conference. Or at a retreat. No communication expected, and that’s why no red flags went up.”

“Possible,” Julia said. “Not very likely, though.”

“Well, no, but I wasn’t asked to assess likelihood. Just realistic possibilities, and—”

“And what?”

We were coming up to the intersection of the road that went to Brown and Lindy Bernier’s house, a road that narrowed to a seasonal road not too far past their house and ended completely not much farther after that.