“You’re not stupid at all. Matter of fact, you’re too smart for your own good.”

“Atta guy, you know how to say the right thing. Now, what about Sondra Roberts? Did you call AA?”

“Are you checking up on me?”

“Yes.”

Decker smiled. “It’s not necessary. We found her.”

“You did?”

“Yes, Cindy, the police can actually function without you.”

“Where’d you find her?”

“Long story.”

“What’s the upshot?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“’Course not. Where’d you find her?”

“We found her by luck at Silver’s Gym. Marge is there now, doing an interview.”

Cindy was silent.

Decker said, “What? You’re disappointed because we didn’t find her through your tip-off?”

Cindy broke into laughter. “Truthfully, yes.”

“Ah, the girl has an ego just like her old man.” Decker shook his head. “Anyway, with a little more luck, maybe Sondra—or Tandy, which is her nickname, I guess—can help us find Marie.”

Cindy didn’t answer right away. “I thought you found Marie at the bottom of the canyon.”

Decker scratched his head. “Things are turning out a little more complicated.”

“What?” Cindy asked. “That wasn’t Marie?”

“I don’t know,” Decker said. “That’s why we need the X rays. So if you’d kindly get moving….”

“Peter?” Rina called out.

“Be right there.”

“Take your time,” Rina answered. “Did Mama make dinner? I smell something good.”

“She sure did, God bless her. Are you hungry?”

“Famished. But it’s too early to eat now, isn’t it?”

“I’ll fix you a snack.”

“You’re a doll. I’ll need a pitcher of water, too. Your daughter has a healthy appetite, baruch Hashem.”

“You got it.” Decker slapped his knees, stood, and picked up the phone. “I’ll call the dentist for you. And seriously, thanks for helping me out, princess. It’s not my idea of a hoot to go riding right now, but the boys…new sister and all. Guess they need me.”

Cindy threw her arms around her father’s waist and hugged him hard. “Daddy, everyone needs you.”

“Very funny,” Decker said. But he thought, Ain’t that the truth.

Marge thought, Baden-Baden had nothing to worry about.

Silver’s was not a spa or a health club or even a community-center gym. It was a warehouse, stripped of anything decorative. No piped-in New Age music, no plush carpets underfoot. Instead, the space had cracked-plaster walls and hanging broken mirrors. The acoustic-tiled ceiling showed water spots from prior leakage; the linoleum floor was old and yellowed. There were a few fly fans running at full blast, but the place was still hot. Nothing but nothing here suggested anything comfortable and soft.

The area was filled chockablock with workout equipment and heavy weights. About two thirds of the stations were in use, and more people were coming through the front door. It looked to be a busy evening.