Marge said, “Let’s try her condo again.”

“Her car’s not here, what makes you think she’s in her condo?”

“Just have peek, okay?”

They rode the elevator up to the third floor. As soon as they stepped out of the lift and into the open, Oliver’s phone rang. He looked at the number and shrugged. “Looks familiar but I don’t know who it is.” He depressed the talk button. “Detective Oliver.”

“It’s Sela Graydon returning your call.”

“Yes, Ms. Graydon, thank you very much. We’re trying to locate Crystal Larabee. Would you happen to know where she is?”

“No. I was actually going to call you about that. I can’t seem to get hold of her. She hasn’t answered any of my calls. It’s making me a little nervous.”

“How many times have you called her?”

“About four…maybe five.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Around nine or ten yesterday morning. We mentioned something about getting together for coffee and that was the last I’ve heard from her. I was thinking about going over to her place, but I don’t want to seem ridiculous. I mean, she is a grown woman.”

Oliver said, “How about if we meet you there?”

“You know where she lives?”

“I do. We could probably be there in twenty minutes.”

“It’ll take me about a half hour.”

“So we’ll see you in a half hour.”

“So you don’t think I’m being ridiculous?”

“Caring about your friend’s welfare is never ridiculous. Do you know anyone who might have a key to her place?”

“I have a key. I don’t know if it works. I never used it.”

“Bring it—just in case.”

“In case of what?” Sela asked.

Oliver didn’t answer, choosing to disconnect the call instead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MANDY STILL WASN’T answering her door, but with her car gone, Oliver and Marge were less worried than they were curious. Maybe the woman had asked for a few days off to soak up the sun on some close-in Mexican beach. Of greater concern was Crystal Larabee. When the friends got worried, it was time to sit up and take notice.

The two-story dingbat that Crystal called home was lit with hot white spots throwing the occasional patches on the white-fade-to-gray stucco. Sela Graydon was waiting outside, dressed in a fiery red suit with an enormous black leather purse perched on her arm. She was pacing and jingling her keys, but stopped when she saw Marge get out of the car. Her attempt at a smile was a dismal failure.

“Hi.” Sela adjusted her purse over her shoulder and held out a hand. “Thanks for coming. It makes me feel less crazy.”

Marge shook her hand. “Your friend just passed on a few days ago. You have every right to feel concerned.”