"We've talked to several of them. Most weren't home or didn't see anything. Your mother is employed at the Harding School for the Arts as a music teacher. I spoke to the principal, Joanne Hunt. She told me that she couldn't imagine who would want to shoot your mother, that Laura is a kind, thoughtful teacher and very well-liked by both students and staff. She was not aware of any incidents at the school that would suggest someone had a problem with your mother."

His words were filling in a couple of blanks but also creating more questions in my head. "Is she single? Is she married? Does she have kids?"

"Mrs. Hunt said that Ms. Hawthorne is single and to her knowledge has not been married, nor does she have children. Clearly, that may not be the case since you're here and your name is in Ms. Hawthorne's phone with the designation of daughter."

"You have my mother's phone, don't you? Were there a lot of people on her contact list? I'm wondering if she had my sister's number or my dad's."

"There were ten contacts on the phone besides yourself. Three of them were teachers at the Harding School, two were friends who said they were part of your mother's book club, one was for her dentist, another for a local restaurant, and three numbers had no names. We called those numbers but didn't reach anyone. One of them had a voicemail for a man named Tom Wells. I don't suppose you know that name?"

"No. I wouldn't know the names of anyone in her current life. It's possible I might recognize one of the undesignated numbers. May I see the phone?"

"I'll get it."

I sat back in my chair as he left the room, my brain spinning as I thought about what I knew. My mother had a job as a music teacher. She had neighbors, friends, a book club, maybe even a boyfriend. That didn't sound like someone who was hiding. On the other hand, she was using the name Laura Hawthorne. Was that her real name? Was Kim Landry the fake name?

Inspector Greenman returned to the room with a large plastic bag. Inside was a brown leather purse. Next to that was a smartphone. He took it out and handed it to me.

"What's the code?" I asked, seeing the numbers pop up as the phone came on.

"0413. Your mother gave the code to the nurse when she asked her to call you. That saved us the trouble of trying to get into the phone."

My heart jumped. "That's my birthdate."

"Not surprising," he said with a nod. "Most people stay close to meaningful numbers."