“Root canal. IRS audit. Terminal disease.”

“But at least those things don’t impact anyone else. I don’t want to take Daisy’s money if I can’t deliver anything, and what are the odds?”

“She’s a grownup. She says this is what she wants. Do you have any reason to doubt her sincerity?”

“No.”

“So why don’t you put a cap on the money end?”

“I did that. It doesn’t seem to help.”

“You’ll do fine. All you can do is give it your best shot.”

In the office Wednesday morning, I made a series of phone calls, setting up appointments with the principals on my list. I didn’t think the order of interviews would make any difference, but I’d arranged the names in order of personal preference. In quick succession, I talked to Sergeant Timothy Schaefer, who’d been the investigating officer when Violet disappeared. I wanted to see how things had looked from his perspective and I thought he’d be good at laying in the background. We agreed to meet that afternoon at 1:00, and he gave me directions to his house in Santa Maria. Foley Sullivan was next on my list. Daisy had told him I’d be calling, but I was still relieved to find him cooperative. I made an appointment to talk to him after my interview with Sergeant Schaefer. My next call was to Calvin Wilcox, Violet’s only sibling. I got a busy signal on that number so I moved to the next.

Fourth on my list was the babysitter, Liza Clements, née Mellincamp, one of the last people who’d spent time in Violet’s company. I was hoping to create a calendar of events, starting with Liza and working my way backward as I reconstructed Violet’s activities and encounters in the days before she vanished. I dialed Liza’s number and she picked up after six rings, just at the point where I’d about given up.

When I identified myself, she said, “I’m sorry, but could we talk another time? I’ve got a dental appointment and I’m just now walking out the door.”

“How about later this afternoon? When will you be home?”

“Really, today’s a mess. What about tomorrow?”

“Sure, that would work. What time?”

“Four o’clock?”

“Fine.”

“Do you have my address?”

“Daisy gave it to me.”

“Great. See you then.”

I moved on to Kathy Cramer. She and Liza were fourteen at the time, which put them in their late forties now. I knew Kathy was married, but she’d apparently elected to keep her maiden name, because Cramer was the only reference I had. I dialed her number and once I had her on the line, I told her who I was and what I was doing at Daisy’s behest.

“You’re kidding,” she said, her voice flat with disbelief.