Mom had replied matter-of-factly: “What would you say that he doesn’t already know?”

Good point. In the end, it was a question of his father’s wishes. What would Dad rather Myron do—sit in a waiting room and cry or go out and try to find his brother? The answer was pretty simple when you posed it like that.

Myron arrived at the trailer park. He snapped off the engine. Fatigue weighed down his bones. He half stumbled out of the car, rubbing his eyes. Man, he needed a cup of coffee. Something. The adrenaline had begun to ebb. He reached the door. Locked. Had he really forgotten to get the key from Mickey? He shook his head, reached into his wallet, and pulled out the same credit card.

The door unlocked just as it had several hours ago. The laptop was still in the main room, near Mickey’s pullout couch. He flipped it on and while it booted up, he searched the place. Mickey was right. There were very few possessions. The clothes had been packed already. The TV had probably come with the rental. Myron found a drawer of old papers and photographs. He had just dumped them on the couch when the computer dinged that it was all booted up.

Myron sat next to the pile of assorted papers, pulled the laptop toward him, and brought up the Internet history. Facebook was there. Google searches showed that someone had looked up the Three Downing nightclub in Manhattan and the Garden State Plaza Mall. Another Web site had been used to figure out public transportation routes to both. Nothing here. Brad had gone back to Peru three months ago anyway. The history only went back a few days.

His phone rang. It was Win.

“I have set it up. We leave for Adiona Island in two hours out of Teterboro.”

Teterboro was a private airport in northern New Jersey. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

Myron hung up and looked back at the computer. The Internet history hadn’t given up anything clue worthy. So now what?

Try some other applications, he thought. He started bringing them up one at a time. No one used the Calendar or the Address Book programs—both were empty. PowerPoint had a few school presentations by Mickey, most recently one on the history of the Mayans. The slideshow was in Spanish. Impressive but not relevant. He brought up the Word file. Again there were a bunch of what had to be school projects. Myron was about to give up when he spotted an eight-month-old file called “Resignation Letter.” Myron clicked the icon and read:

To: The Abeona Shelter

Dear Juan: