"What about the two of you? Are you doing okay?"

"We're very close. In fact, we've been talking about another baby now that Griffith is two."

"So you're convinced something's wrong."

"Very wrong. I just can't think what. If he'd been injured or abducted, surely we'd have heard by now."

"What about his employers? What can you tell me about them?"

"I really don't know much. I've only met Joel Glazer twice and one of those occasions was the groundbreaking for the new Pacific Meadows annex, and we didn't have time to chat. As I understand it, Joel and Harvey Broadus made a fortune in construction, developing retirement communities in the Southwest. They also own a chain of board – and – care homes, plus a number of nursing facilities across the state. We used to see Harvey occasionally at social events, but he's apparently in the middle of a nasty divorce so he's keeping a low profile. He's a bit phony for my taste, but maybe that's just me. Anyway, after Dow retired in 1981, he found himself at loose ends. Everyone knows how highly regarded he is in the medical community. They approached him with regard to Pacific Meadows and asked him to take over the administrative work."

"And they all get along?"

"As far as I know. I mean, they hardly ever see each other. Joel and Harvey seem to be happy with Dow, so they tend to go their way and let him go his. An operating company does the billing. I know at first he was worried they'd interfere with the running of the place, but it hasn't turned out that way."

"How long have they owned the place?"

"I believe they bought it in 1980. It's over on Dave Levine Street right there at the corner of Nedra Lane. You've probably passed it a hundred times. Looks like Tara without the acreage-big white columns across the front."

"Oh, that. I see it on the right side any time I drive in from that end of town. There must be five or six nursing homes along that stretch."

"The staff people all refer to it as 'Formaldehyde Alley,' no disrespect intended. Dow hates when I repeat that."

"How did you two meet?"

"Mom..."

Crystal glanced into the great room through the open door. "We're out here." She must have caught sight of Leila because she turned back with an expression of annoyance and disbelief. "Oh, for heaven's sake."

I followed her gaze.

Leila was clumping down the stairs in a pair of black satin pumps with heels so high she could hardly stand erect. Now and then her ankles wobbled as though she were setting off across the ice for the first time on skates. Under her black leather jacket, her top was a see-through confection of chiffon and lace, worn with a long, narrow wool skirt. At fourteen, she was still in that coltish stage of development: no bust to speak of, narrow hips, and long, bony legs. The length of her skirt couldn't have been less flattering. She looked like the cardboard cylinder in a spent roll of paper towels. She'd also done something strange to her hair, which was cut short, dyed a white blond, sticking out in all directions. Some strands had been dreadlocked while the rest remained as wispy as cotton candy. She came to the open door and stood there staring at us.