The next one is in Texas. “No,” Daria says, “Texas is east of Colorado. That wouldn’t make sense.”

Karina clicks on the link to the last one. Idaho.

We look at each other with the exact same expression. I nod. “I think we might have a winner.”

Karina brings up the home page of Heartwell Manor.

Daria reads out loud, “Heartwell Manor of Boise is an affordable alternative in senior living for those on a fixed income. Accommodations and amenities are based on a sliding scale.”

“In other words, it’s for old poor people,” Fire says.

Ignoring her, Daria continues, “Along with individual suites, Heartwell Manor provides community dining, a library, a community garden, and daily enrichment activities.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” I say.

“So what do we do now?” Karina asks, scrolling down the screen. “Call up and ask if they have somebody living there named Sis Knight? I seriously doubt her first name is actually Sis.”

“And what if her last name’s not Knight?” I know Mama’s last name was Wolfe before she married Daddy and became a Trudeau. “Sis could have a married name.”

“Or Knight could be Jewel’s married name,” Daria points out.

“Crud.” I sigh. “This is getting complicated.” I glance at the clock. “I have to leave in five minutes,” I say. I don’t want to make Mama any madder than she already is.

“Look.” Karina points to a small photo at the bottom of the homepage. It shows a smiling woman holding a cat in her lap. Beneath it, it says in big letters “Pets Welcome!”

“That has to be where Jewel was going!” I say. “She knew she could have Baby there with her and be with her sister.”

“Then why did she end up here, living on the streets?” Daria says.

No one answers. The clock ticks. I’m about to say I have to go when Fire says, “I think I know.”

She’s holding up the bag with the empty medicine bottles. She reads the names on the labels. “Lithium. Zyprexa. Klonopin.” She recites the names like she knows them by heart.

She looks at us with sad eyes. “These pills are for someone with bipolar.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

She swallows. “It’s a mental illness. My mom has it.” She takes out the empty bottles and studies the labels. “These were last filled almost six months ago. Who knows how long ago she ran out.”

“But she’s been in the hospital,” Karina points out. “Wouldn’t she get her medication there?”

Fire shakes her head. “How would they know? If she hasn’t been taking her pills for a long time, she probably doesn’t remember she needs them.”