People were passing through the airy kitchen and into the den where large windows overlooked the pool area and big, comfortable beige and white couches, another fireplace, and a large flat-screen television like the one in the bedroom gave the room a relaxed feeling. The curtains were open. If Cleo was scared, I’m sure she closed them at night, Regan thought. I want to walk around these rooms. Maybe something will give me a clue about Cleo’s stay here or why she left. But probably nothing will. Cleo had been gone for nearly a week. Edna had been back and spent a few days preparing for the sale.

Regan walked into the dining room, where Cleo’s fan club crazies were carefully packing up their goods. Jody looked a little aggravated as she added up their purchases with a calculator.

“So,” Regan asked Mr. President and Madame Vice President. “How do you start a fan club?”

The guy shrugged and wiped his forehead. “You just do it.”

The birdlike woman nodded, her eyes darting around the room. “You just do it.”

“Are you in any other fan clubs?”

“Oh,” Jody said in frustration, obviously directed at Regan. “I just lost track. I’m not sure if I counted that last skull. We’d better start over.”

“Sorry,” Regan said. “I’ll get out of your way.” She went through the living room and up the stairs again. Autumn was still there watching the shoppers who were going in and out of the bedrooms.

“A couple more people were asking about the trunk,” Autumn said, her eyes twinkling. “But it’s yours!”

Regan smiled. “Yes. I’m so glad about that. I want to look in those other bedrooms.” She made a face. “I ran downstairs when I heard all that excitement before.”

“Sure,” Autumn said sweetly, no comment on the brouhaha.

The guest room was welcoming with a queen-sized bed, matching print curtains and bedspread, and a white desk, dresser, and end tables. Regan often wondered if people in guest rooms ever used the desk as anything other than a depository for their stuff. The other bedroom must have been Edna’s son’s room. A dark blue spread covered the twin bed. Framed photos of the Beatles and Rolling Stones hung on the walls, as well as the famous photo of a couple hugging in the middle of the crowded, muddy field at Woodstock.

A gray-haired couple walked into the room. The woman inhaled sharply. “Woodstock! Remember those days, honey? I wanted to go so badly but my father laid down the law. He wouldn’t allow it! I was heartbroken. If I had been eighteen, I would have gone. I was born six months too late to be a part of history.”

The man jutted out his lower lip and squinted as he looked at the photo. “You were lucky. Look at all that mud.”