“The last name was Robert…. It was Susan Robert…something like that.”

“Susan Robert?”

“Something like that, but not exactly.”

“Okay, that’s a real good start.”

“But it wasn’t Susan. More like Susanna, but that wasn’t it either.”

“Cynthia?” Marge suggested. “Sara?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Cecilia? Sandra? Serita?”

“Sondra,” Paula stated. “The name on the card was Sondra Robert.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, I think.” Paula beamed. “Guess I’m not so terrible with names after all.” She paused. “It’s Detective Dunn, right?”

Marge stood and smiled. “Right.”

Decker studied the face of the Christmas card—a snow-covered pastoral scene with smoke rising from the country house’s chimney. Inside were the words: Over the River and through the Woods. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. The signature was large and full of flare. Sondra Roberts. No love or sincerely or best wishes or fondly. Just a signature. To Marge, he said, “And Paula said this was the only Christmas card Bellson had on display?”

“The only one she remembered seeing.” Marge sat down on Marie’s wave-patterned couch. “Where’d you finally find it?”

“In her stationery drawer under her personalized paper—the only personal item I found.”

“We never did find any lockbox,” Cindy added. “Or wall safe or floor safe or hidden door.”

“She must have some photo albums somewhere,” Marge said. “Everyone has photo albums.”

“Unless you’re trying to forget your past,” Decker mentioned.

“The prodigal daughter,” Marge said. “Then why keep the old books?”

“Maybe Marie didn’t want to bury her past entirely. Books are less threatening reminders than snapshots.”

Marge raised her brow. “Or maybe the someone who rewound her messages could have taken her personal photographs. Come to think of it, he or she could have taken the lockbox, too. All personal effects that might have linked the person with Marie.”

Cindy said, “Then why wouldn’t the person take the key to the box?”

Decker stared at his daughter.

Cindy shrugged. “Sorry, I’m just a little bored…don’t mind me.”

Decker zeroed in on her. “All right, Cynthia. If the person was going to take the lockbox, why wouldn’t he or she take the key?”

“Because the person knew where the box was but didn’t know where the key was.”

“The girl’s a natural,” Marge said.

“That’s my daughter,” Decker said. “So we’re working on the assumption that this key fits a box, and the box was taken, but not by Marie. Otherwise, she would have taken the key.” Decker thought a moment. “To know about the existence of such a box…it would have been someone close to Marie.”

“I’ll call Paula and ask her if she knew about a box,” Marge suggested.

“Good.” Decker turned to his daughter. “Thanks for the help, princess. Now will you go home and get some sleep?”