She walked up to a front desk that was manned by a blocky young man—a tackle bag in a spanking-white uniform. He had a broad face, his skin oily and slightly mottled by old acne scars. His eyes were deep blue—intense and alert. His hair was light brown and thin and brushed against wide shoulders. Above his uniform pocket was the nametag L. MCKAY, RN, ADMINISTRATION.. L. looked at Marge and smiled with big white teeth.

“May I help you?”

The voice was resonant and deep. Sound waves probably tumbled inside his bull-like neck. Marge displayed her badge. “I’m here to see Lita Bellson.”

L. studied the badge, then Marge. “We’ve been expecting you. Welcome. Strict orders have come down from the top to be looking for Marie. She hasn’t called or visited since I’ve been here.”

That made sense in light of what had been discovered in the canyons. Marge said, “I’d like to talk to Mrs. Bellson anyway.”

“You bet, Detective. I’ll take you to her.” L. stood.

Too cooperative, Marge thought. Too smooth. She studied him as they walked. In reality, he wasn’t tall—just cubic. He led her past the lobby down a long, wide corridor. Off the hallway were the rooms; almost all had the doors open. To Marge’s surprise, the rooms seemed well lit and well ventilated. She heard some moaning and coughing that made her feel uncomfortable, but she also heard a lot of pleasant conversation.

Several wheelchairs dotted the pathway—small, shrunken people smiling as she approached them. L. said hello to each of the people by name and gently squeezed their hands as he addressed them. The old folks responded with big smiles, some dentured, some toothless. Marge said hello, too. One of the women asked L. if she was new. L. responded that Marge was just passing through.

The hallway eventually emptied into a big dining hall, the walls papered with a floral miniprint. The tables and chairs were pink and white rattan, set with linen napkins and silverware.

“You’ve never been to a retirement home, have you?”

“Pardon?”

“Way you’re staring at everything. What did you expect? A house of horrors?”

Marge smiled. “You hear stories.”

“Truthfully, this is one of the best. Hate to say it, but it can afford to be the best because it’s private. Most of these folks have amassed a sizable savings.”

“Probably all gone by the time they leave,” Marge said.