Wilcox Construction was located out on Highway 166, housed in a prefabricated steel building on a narrow lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. Both exterior and interior were utilitarian. At a desk just inside the door, there was a secretary-receptionist whose responsibilities probably included typing, filing, coffee making, and walking the sleeping German shepherd beside her desk. “He’s the yard dog,” she said, giving him a fond glance. “May look like he’s sleeping on the job, but he’s called into service once the sun goes down. I’m Babs, by the way. Mr. Wilcox is on a call, but he’ll be right out. You want coffee? It’s already made.”

“I better not, but thanks.”

“Well, have a seat in that case.”

She filled her mug from a stainless steel urn, and once she sat down again, her phone gave a chirp. “That’s him. You can go on in.”

Calvin Wilcox was in his early sixties, wearing a short-sleeve denim work shirt and jeans belted under a modest swell of abdomen. I could see the outline of a hard-pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. He had thinning red hair and ginger freckles on his arms. His cheeks were wind-burned, which made his green eyes look electrified in the ruddy gl ow of his face. I knew I was looking at a male variation of Violet’s green eyes and her faux red hair.

We leaned toward each other across the desk to shake hands. He was a big guy, not tall, but solid. He waited until I sat down and then settled in his swivel chair. He tipped it back in what was probably a typical move, one work boot propped on the edge of his desk. He lifted his arms and laced his fingers above his head, which gave him an air of relaxation and openness I doubted was there. Behind him, on the wall, was a black-and-white photograph of him at a construction site. His hard hat shaded his eyes, while the businessmen on each side were bareheaded and squinting. One held a shovel and I assumed the occasion was a ground-breaking ceremony.

He smiled, watching me with a certain shrewdness evident in his eyes. “My sister, Violet. Here she comes again.”

“Sorry about that. I know the subject comes up every couple of years.”

“I should be used to it by now. What’s that old saying? ‘Nature abhors a vacuum.’ People want closure. Otherwise you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. How long have you worked for Daisy?”

“Not that long.”

“I guess she can spend her money any way she wants, but what’s she hope to accomplish?”

“She wants to find her mother.”

“Yeah, I get that and then what?”

“That depends on where Violet is.”

“Hard to believe it’s still bugging her after all this time.”

“What about you? Does it bother you?”