“Seriously? Ouch. I’m sorry.” Jenkins pulled a face. “I hope it’s not bad news.” In his midtwenties, Jenkins was blond, with a trimmed beard and quick sense of humor. Gay and in a long-term relationship, he had a job he liked and a supportive family. Still, he couldn’t put behind him the fact that his twin brother had died from a rare form of cancer that even a bone marrow transfer from his identical twin hadn’t been able to destroy.

Before Brianna could explain, Selma appeared, dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing earlier in the day, her face devoid of makeup. Her hair hung limp in the ponytail, strands falling around her face and behind her glasses. Her eyes seemed to have sunken into her skull.

Obviously her daughters were still missing.

“Selma,” Brianna said, walking to the doorway to greet her.

“You talked with the detective?” Selma asked.

“Yes, I did.” Somehow Brianna had to put a positive spin on her meeting with Bentz. “I hope I lit a fire under him.”

“But you don’t know.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow. For sure.”

Selma looked about to fall down. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she admitted. “I should be home, in case Zoe or Chloe show up. They might come for their car. . . .”

“You have your cell. Come on. How about a cup of coffee?”

Tanisha, who had overheard the conversation, was on it, reaching for a cup. “Regular?” she asked.

“I don’t care.”

Brianna met Tanisha’s gaze. “Let’s go with decaf, and then I think we’d better get started.”

“About time,” Enrique remarked with a pissy expression as he glared at the clock mounted to one side of the stage.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.” Jenkins lifted an eyebrow and gave Enrique a stare as he stirred Equal into his coffee.

Brianna hated to defend him, but said, “Enrique’s right. We should get started.” The fact that Roger and Latrice hadn’t shown wasn’t that much of a surprise. Neither of them was all that tight with the group. “I guess if anyone else comes, they’ll catch up.”

“Shit, man, are you waiting for Roger?” Enrique snorted his disgust. “You can’t count on that dude. He’s whacked!”

“Well, aren’t we all, to some degree?” Jenkins threw back at him. “Wow. Way to be judgmental, Rico.”

“It’s Enrique.”

“Whatever.” Jenkins’s smile stretched a bit. He loved toying with the hothead.

Brianna warned, “Play nice.”

“Oh, ouch. I’m not the touchy one.” Jenkins took a sip from his cup, made a face, and said, “You know, we really oughta get some real cream here. This chemical garbage doesn’t cut it.”

“Organic?” Lincoln joked, trying to lighten the mood.